Ello, Beastie
by catgirlutah
Summary: Death is the next great adventure. Herein lies the tale of Jack's adventure while waiting for the crew of the Hai Peng to come to his aid. Reviews are loved, and often rewarded with personal replies.
1. Prologue: The End

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I do not have permission to write this. I do not have permission for most things.

_Author's Note_: Hello hello, and welcome to this story. Now, I have been roleplaying as the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow for nearly as long as I've been writing about him, and at the end of the completely spectacular _Dead Man's Chest_, I've been left to wonder exactly what will become of myself for the next three hundred plus days until the third movie. So…I decided to write. Since I now am privy to more information than before, thanks to the movie, I've decided I want to rewrite an old story of mine. It's alright if you haven't read it, as I don't really like it. I hope I like this one better until it's proved wrong by the third movie… Until then, enjoy!

By the way, if you have not seen _Dead Man's Chest_, I would suggest you do not read this. I have major spoilers… Oh, and this is subject to change as I watch the movie again and again. Need to get it perfectly right.

Reviews would greatly be appreciated! The more I get, the more likely I am to post the next chapter tomorrow. If I don't get many, well, I might just have to wait to post it until I get back from my family vacation on July 22.

**Prologue: The End**

It was a terrifyingly stunning day, really, one that the Caribbean was quite famous for having. The sun was shining; the waters were a brilliant blue and easy to look into. There was no hint of hurricane or storm or even small squall anywhere on the horizon. A man could lean from the railing of his ship and see for miles in any direction. Couldn't ask for better conditions to go sailing about, actually, even if all you were using to get from point A to point B was a small longboat. There was a gentle black behemoth floating gracefully above the pristine waters, her patched black sails desperately trying to harness the power of the wind and move those on board away from where they currently were. It was to no avail, of course, because the infamous ship known as the _Black Pearl_ was in the clutches of something every mariner feared. Large tentacles, belonging to a leviathan that was said to be the length of ten ships with suckers that could rip a man's face clean off his head and a stench of a thousand corpses on its breath, were busy snaking their way along the deck of the pirate ship, looking to drag people to the depths in order to exact some sort of revenge for the trick pulled on it. The Kraken was used to a rather quick operation, when dealing with ships, and had been terribly surprised indeed when the volley of cannonballs had hit it during its first attempt to bring the _Pearl_ down. It could not fail its master. Davy Jones gave no room for failure. The marked man, Jack Sparrow, was going to meet his fate this beautiful day.

Captain Jack Sparrow stood up on the bridge with a rifle in his hands, carefully taking aim at a barrel falling from a net full of kegs of powder and rum, taking his time to ensure that he hit said barrel in just enough time as to give the young William Turner a chance for survival. Elizabeth Swann sat on a step below the infamous Captain, clutching his leg as she waited to learn if she was going to die unmarried in a few moments or if this would buy them the time necessary in order to escape. The crew of the _Black Pearl_ had been whittled down, one by one, and there were now only eight souls alive. This terrible beastie obviously meant business. If it hadn't been for the black spot on Jack's hand, he wouldn't be here decimating the crew of the once proud captain and his prized ship. Pity he couldn't have enjoyed her longer. Though Will's plan of grouping kegs of powder with rum in a net and raising it for the Kraken to find was inspired, it would only buy time. The beastie wouldn't be called off the hunt unless Jones called it off, and since Jack hadn't had the leverage he'd planned on having… Well, there seemed no way to call the thing off. The _Pearl_ had no chance, and neither did the remainder of the crew unless they bought time with this risky chance.

Jack found himself wondering had he stayed behind instead of temporarily leaving to go and fetch the still beating heart of the infamous Davy Jones if he would have come up with something that would be as crippling to the deadly leviathan as this idea of an expoding Trojan Horse. The only problem was that Will's plan was literally being torn to pieces as crewman after crewman found himself dead and the mastermind found himself stuck. The kegs were flying out of the net because Will finally resorted to cutting himself free after the Kraken grabbed onto it with one of those dreaded tentacles. Jackwaited for the man to hit the deck, located an ideal barrel and shot. The little ball of lead travelled exactly where it was supposed to, hitting the keg of powder. It exploded, setting off a chain reaction that resulted in a fiery explosion, scorching the tentacles of the dreaded leviathan. Immediately, they withdrew, much like a child pulls its hand back from a warm stove. The beast was no doubt in a lot of pain and very angry, but the crew had a fighting chance, now. Jack slowly put the gun down and started down the steps leading to the main deck, a saddened look in his eyes of resignation. All the effort he'd gone to, all the hours he'd spent searching for the _Pearl_ after the mutiny…it was all in vain.

The remainder of the crew slowly came from their hiding places. Marty, in particular, had a look of horror in his eyes as he surveyed the burning remains of tentacle and dead bodies of his former crewmates as he moved a net out of the way. "Did we kill it?" he questioned, warily. Why couldn't the stupid thing just die?

"No, we just made it angry. We're not out of this yet," Joshamee Gibbs replied. The loyal first mate, looked towards Jack with worry in his blueeyes. He respected the oddly dressed man, knowing him to be a very fine captain with many insane ideas that had a habit of working. It didn't bother him at all that Jack chose to wear mementoes of his past woven in his dark hair for all to see. Or that the man wore kohl when really only strumpets bothered putting such a thing on. Jack's odd hand gestures andclumsiness while walking about were actually something rather comforting.Gibbs sawsomething in Jack's eyes that he'd seen before, before all this nonsense in which he'd been terrified for his life. Jack had some sort of plan, so he asked, "Captain, orders?"

"Abandon ship, into the longboat," came the reply, surprising nearly everyone aboard. They knew how much Jack loved his ship as well as they knew that she could stand a fighting chance against Davy Jones's terrifying _Flying Dutchman_. Surely he had some sort of plan to outwit the Kraken and outsmart the devil...

Gibbs was able to speak first, a tone of incredulity to his voice. "But, Cap'n, the _Pearl_-"

"She's only a ship, mate," Jack interrupted, glancing at the man with such a look in his eyes as to almost chill the bone. Jack had obviously already reached his decision on the matter and didn't want to be questioned on it. Every moment they spent on the deck was closer to the moment the Kraken would return.

"He's right. We have to leave," Elizabeth chimed in, anxiously.

"Lots of open water," Pintel pointed out, glancing towards the Isla Cruces. The chances that they'd make it all that way without the Kraken getting them seemed slim to none.

"Lot of water," Ragetti agreed, hoping for one of those brilliant but insane plans that Captain Jack Sparrow was famous for. The look in Jack's eyes seemed to say otherwise.

"We have to try. We can get away as it takes the _Pearl_." Will knew that the Kraken would have to destroy the ship before it realized that the man bearing the black spot was gone. The Kraken was too inflamed to leave the ship alone. Unfortunate turn of events, really, because he had been hoping to save Bootstrap Bill, his twice-cursed pirate father, by using the _Pearl_.

"Abandon ship," Gibbs said simply. He added, "Abandon ship or abandon hope," to spur Cotton, Marty, Ragetti, and Pintel into action. They needed to get into the last remaining longboat. Really, it had been fortunate Jack had tried going back to the Isla Cruces to find that heart, or the Kraken would've destroyed all ways of escaping.

Jack, meanwhile, turned to his ship once more, determined to say his final goodbyes. She had been such a good ship. He calmly put his hand on the main mast, wishing his bargain with Davy Jones had been longer than just thirteen years. Certainly wasn't long enough to get to know a ship as fine as the _Pearl_, especially since he'd been without her for those ten miserable years. "Thank you, Jack," a distinctly feminine voice said as the others prepared to launch the longboat.

Jack was only slightly surprised to hear Elizabeth speak. He looked at her and said, "Not free yet, luv."

Elizabeth smiled slightly, stepping closer to him. "You came back," she continued. "I always knew you were a good man." She kissed him, passionately, as they both stepped towards the mast. All thought of honor had fled her mind and Jack was left getting quite a nice taste of what it would be like to have a woman like Elizabeth. To say he was enjoying it was rather understating the truth.

Will was busy climbing down to the longboat when he happened to notice Elizabeth and Jack sharing their final goodbye. He stared for a moment, clearly bewildered. Elizabeth was his fiancée, and she was kissing a pirate? "Prepare to cast off, no time to lose," Gibbs ordered anxiously, wanting to put as much distance between the sole longboat and the doomed ship as possible. "Come on, Will, step to!" Will seemed to snap out of his reverie and quickly got into the longboat. Exactly what had happened while he'd been on the _Flying Dutchman_?

The rather heated kiss between Elizabeth and Jack stopped shortly after a loud click was heard. As Elizabeth pulled away, the captain smirked very slightly at her, knowing exactly what that click meant. He was not to come with them. She intended for him to go down with his ship, like any good and honorable captain would.

"It's after you, not the ship. Not us," Elizabeth explained. She sounded as though she were having a hard time speaking as Jack merely continued to slightly smirk at her. "This is the only way, don't you see? I'm not sorry," she added, almost angrily.

"Pirate," Jack accused appreciatively before smirking at her, admiration clearly visible in his kohl lined eyes. She was going to prove he was a good man by forcing him to do the right and proper thing. After all, she _was_ right. The Kraken was after him, not the other seven survivors, as he bore the black spot. He glanced down at his wrist, curious as to what she'd used to chain him to the mast. The irons were simple, really, and relatively short. Where had she found them? And how long had she been planning this? The idea of going down with his ship while unable to be free and independent of her was sour in his mouth because above all else, he cherished freedom the most. She was forcing him to do the right thing and in making him do so was giving him no choice in the matter. It was almost as bad as compelling him to sail under a Letter of Marque.

"Where's Jack?" Will asked the moment that Elizabeth boarded the small longboat. They were all looking at her anxiously, though Will seemed to have something else behind those brown eyes of his. Was it possible he'd seen her kiss the pirate?

"Jack elected to stay behind to give us a chance," Elizabeth elucidated quickly. "Go!" she said a bit sharply as they all paused. The Kraken would be back at any moment. She didn't want to change her mind and go back for Jack, either. She truly wasn't sorry. It had to be done to protect the greater good.

If Jack was going to go down with his ship, there was no way he was going to do so chained to his mast like some sort of ritualistic offering. As the seconds ticked away, he pulled desperately at the metal band around his wrist, stretching to the point it hurt. He'd slipped out of so many chains, had so much experience doing this, but he'd never felt this much desperation. "Bugger bugger bugger," he said exasperatedly, as he put his foot on the mast and pulled against the chain with all his might. He glanced around deck, looking for some other way to go about getting free. The angle of it was changing, signifying that the terrible beastie had come back for its prize. A cannonball rolled down the deck as Jack caught sight of a lamp above the arm of one of the casualties of the beastie's last attack. He quickly pulled out his sword and stretched. "Come here," he pleaded gently, somehow managing to put his blade through the metal loop on top. Quickly, he spun it around and broke the glass on the mast he was chained too, pouring oil onto his trapped hand. "Come on you…" he urged, trying to fit his hand through the hole. The oil was starting to help, he could feel his hand coming out as his rings started slipping off. Elizabeth seemed to have more experience chaining a man up properly than most of the navies combing the Caribbean for pirates. Generally he didn't have to resort to using hot oil to get free. "I've got it, come on!" His hand suddenly pulled free of the chains as he smelled the horrid stench that accompanied the Kraken, his triumphant grin quickly fading.

He turned to stare at death, apparently unafraid. There was no way for the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow to escape from this as the Kraken didn't entirely seem capable of conversation. It was through conversation that Jack generally ferreted himself out of trouble. He would go down with his precious _Pearl_ like any noble captain would, wishing there could've been something he could do to protect her. It wasn't her fault he'd made a deal with the devil and lost. It was better that she was going back down to the depths in this way, rather than from some sort of storm, reef, insolent naval attack, or even disrepair. She was dying a glorious death, one that would be remembered for generations. Jack could almost hear the rumors now: 'Do you remember 'ow Captain Jack Sparrow finally met 'is Maker? They says that 'e fought a Kraken for nigh un'o three days before 'e finally took down Jack an' 'is ship, the _Black Pearl_.' At least he wasn't snuffing out of this world like some sort of troglodyte. Captain Jack Sparrow would be discussed long after this, as well as the _Black Pearl_. She'd been worth the price he'd paid to bring her to the light of day once more, withstanding the Kraken as long as she had and all.

The Kraken suddenly started spitting very putrid slime at the captain as he stood motionless, grateful his mouth hadn't been open. His hat, which had been dropped overboard shortly after Jack escaped from a Turkish prison, suddenly came out of the mouth lined with countless teeth along with all the slime and landed near his foot. Once the Kraken was finally finished, Jack shivered at the thought of what was all over him. He then calmly wiped some of the mucus-like material from his mouth and commented with, "Not so bad." He wiped some of the gunk from his eye and then glanced down and spotted his familiar tri-cornered hat. "Oh!" he exclaimed, rather excitedly. In a graceful, sweeping movement, he flicked some of the slime off his hat and put it onto his head, becoming complete again. No one would be able to say that Captain Jack Sparrow went out as a coward. Of course, no one would know that he'd met death so heroically, either. Rather ironic, since he had been curious as to what it would be like to be lauded. He grinned. "'Ello, beastie." He drew his sword and stepped forward, paused for a brief moment, and then went into the mouth full of razor sharp teeth, wondering how his hat had survived the journey. It was time to meet his and the _Pearl_'s destiny.


	2. Chapter One: The Arrival

Disclaimer: I don't have permission to be doing this.

_Author's Note:_ Thank you, one and all, for the prompt reviews. Since you're all such diamonds, I've decided to put this up tonight. Don't expect swift updates like this in the future. As a reminder, I'm going on vacation this coming week. It'll probably be once a week afterwards. Hopefully. Depends on what my work schedule is like… Since I'm a fan of replying to all reviewers…I'm doing it in the author's note. So there.  
_Rebelgurl_: Thank you. I had to watch it five times to get it as accurate as it is. And it's good to hear it's identical to the movie. 'Twas what I was going for.  
_Don Blake_: I agree. There are a lot of those out there. While I do plan to have some romance in this…it won't be a Mary Sue, I promise.  
_Daisy_: Always my first reviewer…wonder why that is… Just kidding. Hope this helps the cliffhanger feeling go away… As the first, you get a loverly bunch of coconuts.

**Chapter One: The Arrival**

The overpowering stench was gone along with the overwhelmingly painful pressure all over his body. He still literally smelled awful, sitting on an incredibly comfortable burgundy chair that seemed to belong inside a governor's house and had probably never had a man with a reputation such as Captain Jack Sparrow sitting in it, but he didn't actually smell that horrid stench of a thousand rotting corpses. It was clear that the captain had just become a bit of a snack for Jones's leviathan. His clothes, hair, and braided beard were drenched in some unidentifiable substance that had no doubt been inside either the mouth or stomach of the Kraken. The look on his face quickly melted from disgust mixed with resignation and terror to surprise as he sniffed the almost perfumed air. "I'm supposed to be dead," he remarked to himself as he slowly opened his liquid brown eyes to see what was going on.

"Are we not?" a voice asked to Jack's left, a rather glazed look to his blue eyes. The man was very obviously dead, what with all the blood glistening on his skin and chunks of flesh missing. It almost looked as though he'd been in a fight with a giant octopus and one of the suckers had its way with his skin. The voice was somewhat familiar through the gurgle of either mucus or blood in the man's mouth. The lips formed a slight smile at the captain's very obvious stares.

"Oh," Jack said simply, fighting with himself to not pull a face at the sight of the man. "Crimp?" he asked, suddenly, when he recognized the unmistakable stench of the Kraken clinging to his clothes. This animated corpse was a member of his crew. Well, former member of his crew, as he was, in fact, dead…

"Aye, 'tis me," Crimp replied, smiling as far as his mouth would allow him. It looked as though the Kraken's suckers had nearly pulled the man's face off but got distracted by someone else to kill before finishing properly. Surprisingly, the man seemed to be completely free of pain. He didn't even notice that the flesh on the left side of his face was sagging.

Jack blinked a few times, trying desperately not to stare at the man. Crimp had been a fine crewman. As loyal in life as he apparently was in death. "What happened?"

"Near as I can figure, we're dead," Crimp replied easily, leaning back in his own comfortable seat and closing his eyes. "A few moments ago, a woman came in an' said we jus' 'ad t' wait."

"Oh." This was one of the strangest rooms the captain had ever had the displeasure of being in. The walls were so white and clean that they seemed to glow, making one nauseated if stared at for too long. The floor was a shockingly clean white marble. Jack watched in absolute amazement as some of the spittle on his boot dripped onto the floor and just seemed to disappear. It would explain why there wasn't blood all over the floor. He tilted his head slightly and then looked at Crimp again. "Where are we?" he asked, afraid to hear the answer.

"Can't rightly say," a man sitting next to Crimp replied. "Preacher din' ne'er mention this in 'is sermons." He was staring at his hands, drenched in sweat with a wound to the neck. His voice was numb, indicating he'd long since stopped questioning anything.

Jack sighed slightly and sat back in his seat. A million questions were swirling about in his mind. He was supposed to be dead­–wasn't that the ultimate end to everything? What had happened to the _Black Pearl_? Near as he could remember, he had not heard the wood groan as the Kraken snapped it in two. It was very possible that the _Pearl _was still in one piece, somewhere. How long had he been in limbo? Would he ever be able to scrub this smelly gunk off? How long would he be forced to sit in this clean room full of dead souls?

He was pulled from his mulling thoughts when the seat next to him was suddenly filled with what appeared to be an attractive woman. She had a good, strong chin, tempting blue eyes, readily kissable lips, and a rather nice (if covered) figure underneath her green dress. Exactly Jack's kind of woman. Of course, one could argue that any woman was Jack's kind of woman… "'Ello there, luv," he greeted with one of his characteristic smirks. Few women could resist those.

She blinked, clearly confused by the change of scenery. "Where am I?" she asked, her voice low and worried as she glanced about, as if trying to find some sort of trap.

"Dead," Jack announced soberly, figuring it best to just come out and say it. There was a very serious look on his face for a moment before the smirk came back. "Fortunately, though the circumstances are a bit wanting, you're in the company of the infamous Cap-"

"Dead?" the woman repeated, her blue eyes widening in surprise. "I can't be dead. I was just eating an-"

"-tain Jack Sparrow," Jack finished, with a sigh. Seemed everyone wanted to cut him off before he finished with the best part these days. Didn't his name mean what it used to?

The woman seemed not to have heard Jack. "I can't be dead!" she insisted again. "How am I supposed to perform?" She glanced wildly about the room, ignoring the leering stares of all the men waiting for whatever it was they were waiting for. "How did I die?"

"Well, one can ne'er be certain," Jack said, with a slight sigh. His smirk was still there, as he was determined to welcome the lovely lady properly. He had, after all, just shared a rather teasing kiss with another beautiful woman and was rather anxious to see if he could go any further than that. "As near as I can figure, it was likely poison." The woman turned and looked at him, clearly curious as to how Jack would jump to such an obvious conclusion. "I mean, ye were eating and all. Didja have any enemies?"

"Who doesn't?" she asked with a snort, glancing at her rather hairy fingers for just a moment. Every eye was staring at her as she was the only woman in here. Perhaps this was the final resting place of those stupid men who were killed by other men. Women, being the more intelligent gender, didn't often kill one another for the fun of it. She was probably poisoned by her jealous best girl friend. "Musta been Mark," she finally decided, slumping in the chair and spreading her legs in a rather unladylike fashion. It was fortunate her dress was so long, really. "He was jealous. I always got the parts he wanted."

Jack's eyes widened slightly as he carefully eyed the finely dressed woman wearing rather heavy makeup. "An' what parts were those?" He just had to know, though he was reasonably sure what the answer would be.

"Well, Mark always ended up in the chorus. I have a better voice and would generally get the leads in each opera the Company put on." The woman smiled very slightly, her voice full of slight regret. "It isn't my fault his parents waited so long whereas I had the operation when I was eleven."

Jack tried desperately not to pull a face as he realized what his fine and lovely companion was actually saying. She was a he, a eunuch. Quite common in opera, which was probably what she -he- had been prattling on about. "Did it hurt?"

The transvestite glanced at Jack curiously. "What?" There was a slight note of warning to his voice.

"You know…" Jack mimicked a pair of scissors with his hands chopping away at something. "Snip snip?"

The look he received in return confirmed what Jack had long suspected. However, the gentleperson did not actually articulate an answer. Who would, with such painful subject matter? They sat in rather awkward silence for a moment. Crimp quietly whispered, "She's a he!" to the man next to him and soon the whole room knew. Many were trying to see under the skirts of said person to make sure that was true. He definitely looked like a woman.

"Who did you say you were again?" the eunuch pressed of Jack when he tired of trying to look demure at all the stares.

Jack quickly snapped out of his reverie. He'd been wondering if the slime all over him would ever dry. "Captain Jack Sparrow," he announced, proudly. It felt good to say that.

"Aren't you that pirate?" the prima donna questioned, carefully eyeing the illustrious captain.

"Aye, I am," Jack confirmed. He wondered, briefly, if "she" was from Europe. It was likely, as the opera really wasn't all that big in the Caribbean. If so, his fame had spread further than he'd realized. He knew he was known in Asia, South America, the Colonies, and the Caribbean…but had never really considered that he might be making a name for himself in jolly old Europe with her dignified ways…

"I dated a pirate once," the eunuch said, a slight smile on his face. "Short, hairy fellow. Bad teeth and worse breath." The smile broadened. "His name was Anthony Pintel."

"That's not right," Crimp muttered in Jack's ear.

Jack nodded his agreement. It did sound like something Pintel would do, however. "Ah," was all he said in response as he started playing with some of the slime between his fingers.

"He had an interesting view of the world, that Tony. Didn't seem to bother him that I'm, well, different." Only a few of the recently departed were paying attention anymore. It seemed that women went to a different locale than men when they left God's green earth. Or maybe they were all being punished for being womanizers by not having women around any longer. "If he hadn't been so blasted brave, offering to kill that vagabond with only one eye that stole my string of pearls, I should have liked to spend more time with him. He ran off into the darkness and I never saw him again."

Jack wasn't particularly fond of people that enjoyed rambling on about nothing at a time where nothing was certain. Of course, this was probably some sort of Hell, waiting for eternity with naught but a room full of bloodied men for company with no food, water, and blinding white walls. He already felt as though the space was closing in and that there was less air as Mister Wants-to-be-a-woman started going into detail about his relationship with Pintel. Was this his reward for being terribly noble and doing the right thing?

"Jack Sparrow?" a heavenly, sweet, and terribly good timed voice called out as a door appeared between two chairs and a tall blonde wearing a divinely white dress stepped out. She seemed to be glowing and far whiter than the walls could dream of being. All conversation stopped in the waiting area as every pair of eyes watched her float along.

Jack instantly stood. "Captain Jack Sparrow," he corrected with a gentle chiding note to his voice. He had gone down with his ship like a good captain and deserved his title.

"My mistake, Captain," she replied with a slight smile gracing her flawless face. "Please follow me. We're nearly ready for you."

Jack gladly obliged, looking at Crimp apologetically as he passed by the crewman. Crimp sighed loudly and then started feigning interest in whatever the eunuch was saying about opera. Apparently Jack was getting special treatment. Maybe it wasn't so bad that he'd gone out all heroic…

They reached a small hallway where the woman stopped in front of a large square crate, pulling out a book that had Jack's name on it. "You're not a eunuch, are you?" Jack questioned, glancing downward at her as she straightened.

She laughed and shook her head. "Most assuredly not, Captain." She smiled at him, clearly intrigued. She started walking again at a slower pace.

"What's that?" Jack asked, as he pointed towards the folder with his name on it. Curiosity was burning in his mind. What was to happen now? Would they pass final judgment on him?

"This is the record of your life, Captain," the woman replied matter-of-factly. "Every good and bad thing you've ever done is inside this very folder. Call it the book of your life, if you want."

"Ah." Well, now that was answered, it was probably best to get on her very good side, eh? Couldn't hurt, at least. "Thank you, luv."

"For what?" she asked, her eyebrow arching. She paused to look at him, her brilliant green eyes calmly taking in every inch of his appearance. It was clear she approved of what she saw.

"Rescuing me. That eunuch back there…" Jack pulled a face. "This be the first time I've ever been rescued by a maiden as fair as you, luv. Are you an angel?"

The woman laughed softly and shook her head. "I just work here, Captain," she responded. "Escorting poor souls such as yourself from the waiting room to the other room. It's terribly boring, but every once in a while I'm fortunate to speak with someone such as yourself."

Jack grinned. "Aye, ye are an angel. At least an angel of mercy." He stepped nearer to her, reaching out to gently touch her cheek. "I'd really like to get to know you better, luv. What is your name?"

"Lucinda." Her eyes seemed to light up as she smiled all the broader.

"What a beautiful name!" Jack leaned in closer. "Lucinda…how about you an' I go into one of these rooms an' get even better acquainted, eh?" He'd been waiting for a while, why not make them wait for him?

"Maybe after you've had a bath," Lucinda replied, trying not to gag. "You smell terrible, Captain."

There was no denying that. "Ah," he remarked, with a slight sigh. "Well, after I have a bath, how abou' we go an' you tell me about your life an' I'll tell you about mine an' we can know each other very properly. Savvy?"

Lucinda looked very tempted for a long while, chewing on her bottom lip. It was impossible to resist a man like the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow, even if he was dead… She shook her head almost imperceptibly when she saw a man dressed in white walking past them, giving her a look that meant she was supposed to be doing her job. "Come along, Captain," she said, brusquely.

Jack pulled a face and shook his head slightly. "Bugger," he murmured under his breath as Lucinda started walking away, staring at her skirt dancing and swaying as she moved. "What are we to do, then?"

Lucinda shrugged and then quickly led him into a small room with two chairs. She motioned him into one and then handed him a stack of papers taken from his folder along with a quill and some ink. "We'd like you to fill this all out, first."

Jack blinked as the papers fell into his lap. "What are all these?"

"Forms," was the short reply, as she slowly sat down across from him. "We have to determine where, ultimately, you need to end up."

"Which circle am I in, if ye don' mind me asking?" Jack queried as he thumbed through a few of the papers with very small print.

"Beg pardon?" Lucinda clearly didn't get the reference.

"Well, I figured…I've spent most of my life doing things that aren't so good. Shouldn't I end up in one of the circles of Hell?" Jack paused over a particular paper, grinning at what he saw. He remembered that as if it were yesterday.

"Oh…Dante." Lucinda laughed softly. The room seemed to brighten afterwards. "I'm afraid I'm not privy to that sort of information, Captain. I can tell you, however, that this will not be what you're expecting."

Jack glanced up at her. "I wasn't expecting anything, so already you've exceeded said expectations, really. I'm not all tha' worried."

"Good," Lucinda remarked, sitting back in her chair and crossing her legs. "They should call you in soon."

Jack was silent for a few moments as he looked at another piece of paper. He almost wished he hadn't done so many things in his life. It would make for less reading. "If you don' mind…why do I have to read all this an' sign these?"

"Well, they're going to talk to you about what is on those papers. Need to make sure you're up to snuff on all the information beforehand," Lucinda replied simply. "They're going to review your life, you'll have to give your account on what actually happened…and then they weigh the positive and the negative and we let you go. Everyone goes through this. And some, some are important enough to head to World's End. Others…well, they're lucky enough to rest for eternity. And others still…well, we don't talk about them. Unlucky blighters."


	3. Chapter Two: The Transfer

Disclaimer: I don't have permission to be using these characters.

_AN_ (7/23/06): I'm back from vacation. And I have a jar of dirt. There's no thump-thump inside it, though. Which is sad. Anyway, I wrote most of this chapter in the car. Sorry if it's a bit…unusual. And not as funny as the previous chapter. I will try to infuse comic relief into each of my chapters, I promise. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one. I had a hard time with a title…  
_Aliana Archer_: I know, bit obsessive, isn't it? I plan to see it at least once more, to tie it with how many times I saw the first one in theaters.  
_DaraNatalia_: You're quite the good writer yourself, Miss Dara Natalia. Thanks for the praise, I hope you find this chapter to your liking…you weren't on to proofread. -sniffle-  
_Anonymous_: Thank you. Very much. You really made my day when I read that. I just hope I don't disappoint in the chapters to come.  
_Daisy_: Glad you found it funny. I know I did when I thought up the idea, sitting in the theater. It was actually while the Kraken was attacking Captain Bellamy. Odd time to snicker to yourself, but that's what I did. Thanks for the continuous support!

**Chapter Two: The Transfer**

Jack really had no way to tell if time were passing or not as he sat in the gray armchair going over a paper record of his illustrious career. He was so completely engrossed in his past that he was unaware that he was sitting in a mostly grey room with grey molding climbing up the walls. The molding was ornately carved with scenes of small people standing on beaches, staring out at ships on the water. It was the only decoration on each of the five walls. He did not realize that his chair was in the exact center of the room and that the light was slowly fading and the walls getting darker by the minute in an increasing frequency. It seemed like a wholly uneventful and boring room, perfectly suited for going over mounds of paperwork.

The words on each piece of parchment seemed to be jumbling together by the time Jack finally finished reading and signing. He could hardly see straight as he put his signature on the last paper and proudly announced, "There, that's the last one." It had been interesting, at first, but the human mind could only assimilate so much visual information. It didn't help that whoever had written his life had been so accurate on details, either. He hardly thought it necessary to note what he had to eat or how many raindrops hit his head on a stormy day. He'd mostly just scanned the last few action-packed years, too exhausted to read each trivial word.

He aligned all the parchment as best he could and then carefully placed it inside the leather folder with his name in gold on the cover. He'd never realized how similar it looked to his signature. Puzzled, he tapped his name with his index finger and looked up, intending to ask Lucinda why it looked so similar to his signature. The seat across from him was empty. "Figures," he commented with a disappointed sigh. She was _such_ a beautiful woman. And probably had other men to give paperwork to. She hadn't even said goodbye, though. It just wasn't fair.

"'Ello?" he asked as he looked around the room. "Lucinda?" he paused for a moment, wondering if she'd merely turned invisible. It could be possible. However, he heard no one breathing other than himself. "Anyone around? I'm not all that sure where this goes…" Nothing fluttered, nothing moved. He _was_ completely alone. "Lovely," he remarked rather sarcastically before standing up. He started towards where the door had been when Lucinda escorted him here, alarmed and flabbergasted when he realized it was a solid gray wall with ugly and ornate molding. There was no trace of a door anywhere on the wall, even when Jack touched where it should have been, hoping maybe he just couldn't see it. It seemed as solid as the other four walls.

Frowning, Jack pivoted around on his left foot and carefully examined each wall, praying that he'd merely been turned around when he'd stood up. He clutched his life story to his chest, afraid it would disappear like the door if he set it down for even a moment, though it was hampering his efforts to check each wall for any hint of an exit. Nothing seemed certain, but he certainly felt as though the jaws of Hell were gaping open again. Spending the rest of his afterlife trapped in this blasted room wasn't all that appealing. As far as he could recollect, there'd been more black marks on his record than anything else, as he had been a pirate and had been forced to steal, ravish women, come up with dastardly plans, attack other people, steal the girl, lie through his teeth, make fun of his own father, covet, curse, and murder in order to break up appearances. He'd broken every single commandment at least once. Most likely, he was in for a rather nasty afterlife. Pity he hadn't really ever been curious about being noble before.

Sighing when he realized all the walls were quite solid, Jack went to the chair he'd been in and started sinking into it when he felt a small breeze caress his cheek and wiggle one of the braids of his beard. Intrigued, he stood erect as the breeze quickly turned into wind. It didn't seem to be coming from anywhere; the wood paneling on the walls seemed as sturdy as ever and there was no window to be seen. "Odd," he remarked, as the wind grew stronger, blowing his beaded dreadlocks backwards. They jingled softly as they moved. He'd always loved that sound. The only time his numerous trinkets were somewhat annoying was when the wind was whipping them in his face.

Jack's dark eyes widened as the wall in front of him started to turn to sand. The greyish particles hit him in the face, finding their way into his ears and eyes before he even had a chance to close his eyelids. Alarmed, he hastily shut them as the remains of the wall continued to blast him. It should have been a painful process, but Jack merely felt as though he were just lying in some nearly dead grass. It wasn't the most comfortable feeling in the world, but it certainly didn't feel as though he were being attacked by angry little bits of brick and wood.

The wind suddenly died. Jack brushed the dirt off his face with his hand and then cautiously opened his eyes, sneezing up some sand as he did so. He shook vigorously once, sending a smokescreen of sand into the air. When he finally was able to focus on his surroundings, he quickly noticed two things: he was in the captain's quarters on board the _Black Pearl_ and something wasn't quite right. There was no familiar swaying of the deck, no snoring or small conversation just barely audible in his cabin. It was incredibly eerie and silent. Perhaps he was under water and Lucinda and all of that had been a dream. Of course, that made no sense at all. "I distinctly remember being eaten for one," he said softly, without really being aware of having opened his mouth.

"You were," a female voice said softly, almost mournfully. There was something terrible familiar about it, even though it seemed as soft as a breeze. Jack instantly felt calmer, though he had not realized his muscles had been so tense before.

"Ah." His dark eyes darted back and forth as he desperately tried to find the source of the voice. He could see no one. "What happens now?" he asked almost conversationally as he feigned disinterest and started brushing dirt off his clothes. Something still seemed to be missing. It took him a moment to realize that he no longer smelled like something the leviathan had spit up for breakfast. Apparently the remains of the room had cleaned off the drool and stomach juice far better than a bath would've been able to.

"Well, we get done what needs to get done," the voice responded reasonably. She seemed to be very near Jack and he could feel her eyes watching him, even though he couldn't see her. He'd felt this feeling before, but never this strongly. "State your given name, for the record."

"Captain Jack Sparrow." He smirked proudly, wishing he could see her. She sounded absolutely ravishing.

"Hmmm," the voice responded as Jack felt something tug at the record in his hand. He let go of it, mostly out of surprise, as it opened itself. "Says here you were born under a different name."

"Yes, well, I changed it so long ago…" Jack smiled slightly. "Does it really matter? The name on the folder is Jack Sparrow."

"True." The folder shut itself and was set down on the table in the _Pearl_'s captain's quarters. "Place of birth?"

"Do I have t' say? Isn't it in there?" Jack didn't like anyone knowing where he came from, even invisible people on the other side.

"It is, but I'd like to hear it from you. You have a rather pleasing voice." The woman laughed softly somewhere to Jack's right.

"Fine," Jack said softly. "I was born in Havertown on the island of Saint Kitts." It was a small island nestled in the Lesser Antilles.

"Age at death?" She sounded incredibly curious with this question.

"Thirty-nine. A month an' a week shy of forty," Jack admitted with a wince. He had one of those faces that made it hard for people to guess his age.

"Really?" The voice sounded surprised and the folder picked itself up again. "Ah, so you are. I thought you were younger." The folder was soon back on the table.

"Why would I lie at a time like this?" Jack asked with a chuckle. "I've seen how many black marks are in that."

The woman laughed softly. "Which is exactly why you were trying to get intimate with Lucinda, I'm sure." If Jack could see her, he was sure he would've seen an amused smile on her face.

"Yes…well…one more black mark won't make much of a difference, eh?" Jack asked, knowing he sounded completely contradictory. He never had been able to resist a pretty face.

She laughed again. Her laughter reminded Jack of a pleasant breeze on a hot day. "You are a very special case, Captain Sparrow. While you certainly have lived a life worthy of every torment any preacher has ever mentioned in one of their fiery sermons, you are also a good man. You sacrificed your life for your friends and your crew, even though you would have been able to get the heart back from the one who took it. You are needed by your friends desperately, right now. The world is in turmoil. Yet…you are dead. Bit of a problem, eh?"

Jack gaped at his hand for a moment. So, he could have gained the leverage back if he'd gone to the Isla Cruces like he'd planned… Pity that honest streak had won out. If he had gone back, Will and Elizabeth and the rest would be in this predicament or something similar… "Yes," he said numbly. Someone had taken the thump-thump. He had a sneaking suspicion as to who it was, as well. If Norrington had it, like Jack suspected, things would be very difficult for those who had survived.

"Jack, you did the right thing," the voice said reassuringly. He could've sworn he felt a hand on his shoulder, but when he turned to look, there was nobody there. "Will and Elizabeth needed to survive, as did Gibbs, Marty, Cotton, Ragetti, and Pintel. Everything happens for a reason."

"If you know so much, why don' you 'ave some sort of quick fix for this whole mess?" Jack sounded almost upset. The only people who knew of his courageous final act on earth would likely be dead before they could tell anyone! Davy Jones certainly wasn't going to be happy when he realized his heart was missing and would immediately jump to the conclusion that Will had it, seeing as Jack was now deceased.

"Well, we don't know everything, Jack. One can never _know_ what a man will do. We each have our own choices. We can surmise, we can guess accurately, say, that you're going to drink a bottle of rum given to you by an old friend, but we don't know until you've done so. The future has always been dictated by choices people make."

"Why am I here?" Jack asked himself softly, not really bothering to try and digest that comment. "What do ye people want with me? I can't pull off another miraculous escape. I'm dead. An' it sounds as though I'll be stayin' this way because you can't trust me to make the right decisions."

The woman's voice was silent for a moment. "_I_ trust you, Jack. That's why you're here. I want to help you reach World's End. That's where Will and Elizabeth are headed right now. They've been informed that you will be there, which you will."

"How do I get there?" Jack asked tiredly. He doubted the higher powers would ever let him out again, despite what this woman was saying. He'd made a deal with the devil and had lost.

"You have to prove that your life is worth reviving." The woman's voice was suddenly quite anxious. "We'll go through a lot of the major events of your life, one at a time, and you'll give a record of why you did what you did."

"Don' you already 'ave everything in that aptly named folder?"

"Yes. But those are all facts. We want to know _why_ you did what you did. I'm sure that they'll see you're really a good man and will take you where you need to go."

"An' how can you be so sure?" Jack asked skeptically. Most of what he'd done had been for very selfish reasons. Of course, she was giving him an opportunity to talk his way out of certain death. His was rather uncertain at the moment.

"I know you very well," the voice replied simply. "Besides, if Hector Barbossa could convince them to let him go back to help, I'm sure you can."

"That would explain the boots and the monkey's reaction in Tia Dalma's shack," Jack remarked thoughtfully. "Was 'e actually already there?"

"Yes. He's coming to find you, Jack. He's going to captain the ship for Will, Elizabeth, and the others."

"What fortuitous circumstance be this!" Jack remarked with a broad grin. "If Barbossa can talk his way out of whatever it is that ultimately awaits men like him, I certainly can."

"You are the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow, after all," the voice said with a slight laugh. She sounded very excited indeed. "Remember…you're doing this for a reason. They need your help; the world needs your help. This isn't because you're so infamous you can cheat death."

"I know," Jack replied, rather seriously. He'd probably have to come back here once he did his final deed…first, he needed to find out if he really would do the right thing when it was needed the most. He had a feeling that this woman really just wanted him to look at his life and decide inside himself, once and for all, what he was. Was he a bad man? Was he naturally inclined to do evil? Or was he a good man as Elizabeth believed? He wasn't sure, had never really been sure. Or, maybe they were just keeping him here to stall for time, or to give Will and Elizabeth time to make it to where they were headed. "I have one more vital question t' ask you, luv…Do I know you?" He turned as he felt the woman's hand move off his shoulder.

"In a way," came the reply. Suddenly, Jack felt a pair of lips pressed against his. He blinked in surprise. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself staring at a woman with ebony hair and nearly black eyes. She smiled impishly at him before pulling away. "I've wanted to do that for some time."

This woman made Lucinda seem homely. "Who are you?" Jack asked, afraid to blink because she might disappear again. In all his travels around the world, he'd never seen a woman more perfect.

"I'm the _Black Pearl_." She laughed at the look on his face. "Really, I am. You can call me Pearl."

"But you're a ship."

"I'm what you desire most in the world in human form, Jack. I only exist here." She gently touched his head. "I'm just supposed to help you review your life, Captain."

"But you're a ship," Jack repeated.

"Yes."

"Talking ship."

"Yes," Pearl replied patiently.

"You're absolutely perfect," Jack announced. He grinned broadly and tried to kiss her back.

Pearl put her milky white hand up to her lips. "And you're supposed to be reviewing your life," she chided gently.

Jack frowned and groaned. What was it with beautiful women saying no to him today? "Where do we start?" he asked, resigned.

"The beginning."

"I didn't make any brilliant decisions as a baby," Jack pointed out. "Can't we start later? This will take too long."

"Time is relative to earth." Pearl smiled and gently took his hand. "I'm sorry, Jack, but we have to see what circumstances were like when you were born."

"Fine," Jack scowled. "We'll start at the very beginning."


	4. Chapter Three: The Beginning

Disclaimer: I don't have permission to be doing this.

_Author's Note (7/26/2006_): I'm spoiling all y'all, really, I am. But I figured, hey, I've got this all typed up, I might as well post it now rather than later as a bit of a thank you to everyone's tremendous support. I'd like to thank all of my proofreaders. Your input was very valuable and for those of you who saw an earlier version, I only took out a few things so I guess you don't have to read it if you don't want to…  
Anyway, hope you enjoy it. I finally decided to put commentary on all this, even though I originally intended it to merely be narrative…it just seemed right. Sorry about how long it is…

_Dearest Robyn_: I like to laugh at a lot of Whitney's comments. She's a funny lass. I'll try not to scare you with my talent… -laughs- I shouldn't reply to these at one in the morning. That reminds me of _Moulin Rouge_. Good movie, that. Anyway, thanks for your support!  
_DaraNatalia_: Ha, you're funny. That was my alter ego that came up with her, if you must know, so technically, she's mine. And yes, she's a bit different… I would like to have her the same, but Katie's not here to help me with that. –sniffle- Thank you so very much for your help and your proofreading and your constructive criticism! You've watched my back and kept me safe more than once.  
_Annie_: I agree. It's taken years of practice to get into Jack's character, an' I'm still slightly off. Pity I'm not Johnny Depp's niece or something. I'd totally call him up and get some input. Thank you for the encouragement!  
_Lightning_: Hey! I know you! Long time no talk to! (Understatement of the year) I, personally, am a great fan of Jack/Ana… I once knew a girl who role played Ana very well. And…I'm not so sure she's dead. She's not aboard the _Pearl_ when Jack is talking about the drawing of a key. I think she probably did get her ship…but I'd like to know what happened. She was one of my favorites. You'll probably notice a few similarities to my old fanfic, Lightning, that you gave me so many wonderful pointers on so long ago… I only hope I don't disappoint ya. Thank you for your constant support. Dunno where I'd be without you.  
_Daisy_: You win again. Guess you get some dark chocolate M&Ms. An' it should. But not as familiar as this chapter should be… (I couldn't sleep in the heat, if you're wondering why I'm updating so late at night after I said I was going to bed.) And…shhh. No one's supposed to know that. Thank you.

**Chapter Three: The Beginning**

_Pearl smiled slightly and took Jack's hand, leading him outside of his quarters and up above to the quarterdeck. She pointed towards the helm, where a most peculiar thing was happening. Jack could see Saint Kitts as she appeared on maps. The closer he looked, the closer the picture got to where he'd been born. Amazingly, it zoomed in on his very house. "So we jus' watch it?" he questioned, looking back at Pearl._

"_Not exactly," Pearl replied as she touched the helm. It pulled them inside of the moving picture. When Jack opened his eyes again, he had the most curious sensation that he was both reading the story of his birth while watching it as he and Pearl floated around, pulled about by whatever it was the story was saying. "Now we watch it," she announced._

To say it was raining was rather understating the truth. The citizens of Saint Kitts hadn't seen a storm this brutal in many years. It was just the start of hurricane season and this storm had hit rather unexpectedly. Even the old codgers sitting and rocking on their front porches had been caught unawares. Generally, before a storm as turbulent as this hit, someone's knee or lumbago would act up. The animals, generally good at sensing danger, were going about their daily business of living when the wind and rain started battering the entire island. Only the foolish and worried were still outside as the storm plastered the frigid rain to everything in sight. The sea was starting to creep its way up onto the shore, towards a row of houses.

There was quite the commotion in one of the houses near the rising sea. It was the largest house in the area, built by the extraordinarily wealthy Richard Smith for his wife when she kept complaining about the long walk down from their first plantation to the sea. The only reason that Richard had acquiesced was that she was finally carrying a child and he didn't want to risk losing it. Richard had long been hoping for an heir over the past few years of marriage to the beauty Rosalyn, but they had so far been unfruitful. It certainly wasn't some sort of problem on Richard's part, for he had many illegitimate children from his various mistresses, but certainly an annoyance. The reason he'd married Rosalyn was because of her beauty. He'd just assumed she'd be a good child-bearer, though her hips were a bit small and she seemed to be in delicate health most of the time. She often complained of headaches. As a result, they'd lived in near civility together until about nine moths ago. Something had happened that gave Rosalyn an attractive spark to her large doe eyes that spurned Richard into insisting they try once more. The result was what had the house in such an uproar.

"Milady! You need to be lying down!" a rather stern maid exclaimed, trying to grab Rosalyn's delicate wrist to lead her back to her chambers.

_Jack seemed to be rather excited, suddenly, when he spotted his mother. The picture suddenly stopped moving as Jack looked at Pearl and said, "That's me mum!"_

"_I know," Pearl replied, with a soft laugh. "I told you we were going to see the beginning."_

"_I jus' assumed I'd watch me being born or something," Jack admitted, with a shrug. "Guess I was wrong. How much are we goin' t' see?"_

"_Up until the beginning. You need to understand what was going on when you were born, since you weren't actually able to see it while it was going on."_

"_Ah." Jack sighed slightly, glancing at the three-dimensional representation of his mother. "How does it start again?"_

_Pearl put a finger to her full lips. As soon as they were both quiet, the scene started up once more._

Rosalyn did not answer, turning to stare at the maid with such hatred the poor servant would have instantly caught fire, if such a thing were possible. She resembled a mad woman. Her normally shining ebony hair was frazzled and ratted about from all the thrashing she'd been doing while lying on that accursed bed. Her face was pale and she had a sheen of sweat all over her nearly translucent skin. "Don't touch me!" she whispered dangerously before shuffling towards the door leading to the main entrance of the lavish house. She was very much with child, so it was difficult to walk, but she'd had enough of that bed.

The maid frowned and sighed. She should have known that Mistress Smith would be such a pain during her labor. She'd been a docile and pampered pet, a doll that her father and then her husband had enjoyed dressing up, until about nine months ago. Susan had heard of pregnancy changing women, but this change had been rather remarkable indeed. Rosalyn started going outside and spending time in the sun, though she used to enjoy boasting her delicate complexion had never been touched by any ray of the great glowing orb. She used to enjoy gossiping and would often spread stories with very little basis in truth, but now she always seemed to be daydreaming as she stared out her bedroom window at the sea. She also enjoyed the water. Susan had been Rosalyn's maid since she'd gotten married and she'd never seen Rosalyn so much as look at the sea, and now she seemed in love with it. Something had to have happened during that pirate raid. It was as though Rosalyn realized she wasn't an invalid as her father had claimed and decided she wanted to enjoy life. Susan secretly thought that Rosalyn had nearly been killed by one of those dreadful men and realized she'd never really lived. As a result, she'd decided to become as annoying as possible. She couldn't be certain, of course, because she'd been knocked out by a pirate with an axe while trying to protect the silver. No one was really sure what happened after that, because Rosalyn would never say.

Rosalyn quickly made her way to the front door and stepped outside, even though she was barefoot and only just starting to develop calluses on the soles of her feet after years of inactivity. Susan loyally followed her, muttering something under her breath. The baby just _had_ to choose to be born early, didn't it?

"Where is he?" Rosalyn questioned, barely audible above the roar of the wind. Her light blue chemise was already drenched and her hair fell in dark wet strands that whipped her in the face.

"Inside!" Susan yelled, wrongly assuming she was asking about Richard. Normally, Richard was out in the fields at this time of day, making sure the sugar production was going to meet its quota again. It was customary to keep men from knowing anything about childbirth, so he was pacing in the library on the second floor.

Rosalyn appeared not to hear, going towards the encroaching ocean and standing in it for a moment. Suddenly, she hunched over as a blinding pain enveloped her whole body. She felt as though she were dying.

Suddenly, Susan's arm was over her shoulder. "Come, milady," she urged, shepherding Rosalyn towards the house. "You can't give birth out here in a storm like this!"

"_Figures that I'd be born in a storm," Jack commented, with a slight laugh. "Susan, when I was little, always told me tha' I was as difficult as the day I'd been born. Maybe she was right."_

Rosalyn put up as fierce a struggle as she could manage to while in so much pain. It wasn't all that magnificent, but she did at least try. "No, no no!" she screamed as Susan brought her inside and several of the other servants rushed forward. "Let me go!"

"Come along, milady," Susan insisted as the servants easily picked Rosalyn up.

Rosalyn feebly struggled, though her face was still contorted in pain. She wanted to walk around, wanted to wait and stay by the sea…but the servants won and she was soon back inside her bedchambers. They didn't want to disturb Richard as he paced around his library and hoped all went well. Most women died giving birth and Richard was worried that Rosalyn might not survive. Not because he particularly loved her, of course, but she was generally very easy on the eyes and a good distraction, on occasion, even if her upkeep was quite a lot.

Susan shooed the other servants out of the room except for Kaya. The aging servant had been with Rosalyn since the woman had been born and was really the only one that never was on the receiving end of her tantrums. Had she not been so bent over by age, she would've fetched Rosalyn herself. Ignoring Rosalyn's cries of pain, Susan looked at Kaya. "What now?"

"We wait," came Kaya's kindly, wizened voice. She glanced over at Rosalyn, who appeared to be crying. "You go an' get some water boiling, Susan," she ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," Susan replied, relieved that she had an excuse to leave the room. Kaya was trying to teach her to take her place in the family, but it wasn't taking. Susan couldn't stand Rosalyn. She practically ran out of the room to do as she'd been asked.

Kaya hobbled over to the bed where Rosalyn was trying to stand once more. "Lay down, chile," she commanded, putting her wrinkled brown hand on Rosalyn's milky white one. Rosalyn obediently did as Kaya asked. "Wha's got you in such a state?"

Rosalyn looked away, apparently ashamed to answer. "Nothing," she lied, rather unsuccessfully.

Kaya frowned, making her face resemble some breed of pudgy dog. She seemed to triple the amount of wrinkles on her well worn face when she did so.

Rosalyn sighed. "Fine." She glanced towards her windows, which were covered by curtains. "He's not here."

"He's upstairs, chile." Kaya grabbed a wet rag from a basin near the bed and started cleaning Rosalyn's dirty face.

"He said he'd come back," Rosalyn continued with a slightly grateful smile.

"Who said dat?" Kaya asked, only halfway paying attention.

Rosalyn's dark eyes had a dreamy look to them as she gently cradled her large belly. "The father."

"He's upstairs, chile," Kaya repeated, a slight frown on her face. Had Rosalyn lost her mind?

Rosalyn laughed at that, an odd, high-pitched laugh that didn't seem natural. "No he isn't. He left and he said he'd be back and I've been waiting for him every day since then."

Sometimes Kaya wished that Peter Mark had not agreed to Rosalyn being married at thirteen. She still seemed a child of that age, though she'd been married for nearly six years. Must be terrible to be cursed with such beauty and such a nice dowry. "De child's father is upstairs, chile. Dat was just a dream."

"No it wasn't," Rosalyn said sharply, nearly sitting up again before another contraction hit. She was quiet for a moment, her face pale as Kaya gently continued to clean her face. "My baby's father is a pirate. He's a member of the Order of the Brethren and he said he loved me and would come back for me and that I needed to keep a weather eye open for his return. Handsome man. Best pirate in the world." Her voice was low and almost a moan.

_Jack chuckled softly. "I've used tha' line before, I'm ashamed to admit."_

_Pearl looked at Jack curiously for a moment. "Why?"_

"_Well, sophisticated ladies generally don't like being ravished by a man unless 'e's said he loves her. Then they're more than eager to spend quality time wiv you. Din' realize that they actually believed it…or that Mum was so naïve."_

Kaya gasped, her hand dropping the rag on Rosalyn's pillow. She stared at her mistress for a moment and then suddenly slapped the woman as hard as she could. "Stupid chile!"

Rosalyn's eyes welled with tears as a white handprint appeared on her suddenly red cheek. That quickly turned to anger. She was a spoiled brat who had never been seriously reprimanded. "Kaya!" She looked very ready to start yelling at the old woman, intending to insult her to the point of tears like she did with all the other servants that said things she didn't like. Before she could start, a very large contraction hit her and she screamed.

"Be a woman an' shut up," Kaya said sharply, one hand pressed to her ear as the other stuffed the wet rag into Rosalyn's open mouth. "Otherwise, you'll give us all a bad name. Loud 'nough to be heard over de storm for miles."

_Jack glanced over at Pearl. "Does it really hurt that much?" he asked, looking rather curious._

"_What makes you think I know?" Pearl asked with a slight laugh. "I'm a ship, remember?" She glanced at the frozen Rosalyn for a moment. "Based on the look on her face, yes."_

Rosalyn glared at the old shrew, but did stop screaming and pulled the rag out of her mouth. "It hurts," she said defensively.

"An' you thought it'd be as fun bringing de baby into de world as it was creatin' it?" Kaya laughed. "Sorry, chile, you'll never know such pain anywhere else."

"_Is it fun creating babies?" Pearl asked suddenly as Jack chuckled, a thoughtful expression on her face as she looked at Jack. "I've often wondered that. It has to be, or why else would women have children?"_

_Jack stared at Pearl for a moment. "Oh…right. You are a ship. Yes. It is. I can give you a demonstration, if you'd like."_

_Pearl grinned mischievously and nodded. "I would. But, unfortunately, not right now."_

_Jack sighed slightly, rather frustrated, now. Maybe he was just going to have to spend the rest of his afterlife around beautiful women that didn't want to spend any quality time alone with him… What a miserable existence! "I'll hold you to that," he proclaimed, trying to not look disappointed._

"_I'm looking forward to it." Pearl grinned and touched his hand briefly before going silent. Jack followed suit._

Rosalyn frowned and bit her lip until the pain passed. "Why did you slap me?"

"Don' tell nobody dat de Master is not de father," Kaya warned. "You'll lose what you have. De pirate will not come back."

Rosalyn's eyes widened in disbelief. "He will come back, he promised," she gaped.

"Him was lying, chile," Kaya insisted. "Dem pirates can't love any woman. Only de sea." She looked slightly understanding of Rosalyn's situation. The woman had fallen in love with the idea of an escape to her monotonous life. It was a common occurrence in young women. Eventually, she would realize what a fool she'd been and would settle for what she had.

"He loves me," Rosalyn whispered, trying not to cry again. She didn't want to be stuck living with Richard for the rest of her life, not when there was a pirate out there that loved her!

Kaya softened a bit, sensing that if she didn't, it would be a very long night. "A man'd be daft to come into de port at a time like dis, chile. You don'worry about him. You're having a baby."

"I know that," Rosalyn snapped irritably, glancing towards the door. She sighed softly. "I guess a man would have to be daft to head into a storm like this." She adopted Kaya's view as her own in order to make this ordeal easier.

The door opened and Susan stepped in with several cloths draped on her arm and a large pot of steaming water in her hands. "Is it time?" she asked, eyeing Rosalyn curiously because she just so happened to not be trying to bolt out of the door.

"Nearly," Kaya replied with a grunt, all hints of softness gone. "What took ya so long?"

"I'd like to see you carry boiling water across the house and not spill it during a storm," Susan remarked dryly. "We'll see how fast you're going." She was in a rather bad mood. Excusably so, of course, because nobody likes going outside during the middle of a hurricane to fetch a madwoman.

"Ah," was all Kaya said in response, leaning against the wall near Rosalyn's headboard on her large bed. She was exhausted already, and the baby hadn't even come. This could potentially be a long night.

"How long does this generally take?" Rosalyn asked miserably when her latest contraction passed. The pain was blindingly excruciating. If a man were to go through something half as painful, he'd be passed out by now.

"Depends," Kaya said with a grunt. "Some babies come faster'n others. You took nearly a full day t' come."

Rosalyn paled, sickened at the thought of it taking so long, and Susan snickered. "Welcome to womanhood," she remarked derisively.

"Get it out of me!" Rosalyn pleaded. "Just take a knife and cut it out. It would hurt less and then I wouldn't have to-" She stopped, a curious look on her face. "I'm wet."

"Well, you stupidly went out into the middle of the storm, of course you're-"

"No, I know…" Rosalyn sighed. "Susan, get me a glass of water, I need water."

Susan quickly rushed out of the room, glad for a chance to escape again. The most painful part of the whole process was coming up and she'd be glad if she didn't have to hear the screams.

"Lock the door," Rosalyn hissed at Kaya. "I don't want Susan in here. The baby's coming."

Kaya stared at Rosalyn for a moment, wondering if her mistress really had lost her mind. She did hobble to the door and locked it by pressing a chair underneath the doorknob. "Why?" she asked as she came back.

Rosalyn didn't answer. She had a look of intense concentration on her face. Apparently she'd started bearing down naturally without any sort of prompting from Kaya at all. The older woman checked her progress and was rather amazed to see that Rosalyn was right. The baby was coming, and rather fast. Quickly, she grabbed a few cloths and some scissors, practically catching the little boy as he came out. Richard Smith's household had just welcomed a son into the world, a son that could carry the Smith name in pride.

"_Was I really that ugly?" Jack asked as he carefully observed himself, rather disgusted by how red he was and how misshaped his head was. He stuck his tongue out slightly in disgust as he leaned in to further examine the miniature version of him. It was hard to see how he'd become so handsome and debonair. Yet another indication, to him, at least, that all children were ugly despite what their parents thought until they grew out of the infant stage._

"_Yes," Pearl replied, pulling a slight face. She looked rather ill. Having been a ship, she'd never seen a birth take place. It wasn't something she ever wanted to see again._

"_Hmmm…" Jack sighed slightly. "I guess that's the only way a baby could fit through, though…me head isn't shaped like that now."_

"_Thank goodness," Pearl remarked, glancing away from the small baby in Kaya's arms. "Shall we move on?"_

"_Sure. Where to next?" Jack asked as he glanced away from himself._

"_I believe the next major event was when your sister was born…so, we're heading to around that time."_


	5. Chapter Four: The Fuss

Disclaimer: I do not have permission to use these characters, even though they're mostly mine right now… They all said no. Bummer, eh?

_Author's Note (7/29/06)_: Okay, I'm officially lazy. I'm sorry. I should update more often, really, I should…but then I get distracted by making spiffy desktop backgrounds and the video game about Pirates of the Caribbean… By the way, it's pretty funny. Jack tells what happens during the _Curse of the Black Pearl_ in a way you'd never imagine. And it has Johnny's voice as Jack, which is nice. Will and Elizabeth sound funny. So does Marty, for that matter. I'd like to lodge an official complaint about IMDB, too. Most of the quotes they have from _Dead Man's Chest_ are incorrect. I'd know, I took notes. Anyway, hope you enjoy this (and I do apologize for the seemingly random rambling)! Oh…before I forget…300 days until the next one! Yay!

_Dearest Robyn_: I really like typing up your name. I don't exactly know why, but I do. Rather random, but I've had loads of sugar today and hardly any real food. As a result…I'm out of it. Anyway…  
Babies do look pretty funny when they're first born. I mean, seriously, have you seen them? They're all red and ugly…even if they will be adorable. Even Jack was all red and ugly when he was born. Crazy to think about, really. And I'm glad you're not confused, because I know I am… This is a slight delineation from the first go I had at his past. There are going to be quite a few things different. Namely because I got it wrong… But…there will be some cool scenes with Tia Dalma, Beckett, and Davy Jones! Woot! I'd better stop meself before I say too much… Thanks for the review!  
_KynaKuffs_: I really like the name. Seriously. It's awesome. Suits you very well, too. Glad you enjoyed the last one, hope you enjoyed this one…glad you left a review. Wish I had something witty to say. But I don't. It's all good, though. Hope you like the background. Like using sentences without a subject, right now. More reviews would be lovely…  
_DaraNatalia_: I like your prediction. I'd totally throw it in here if it wasn't so clichéd. And, actually, it isn't all that convenient. We attend BYU-I, after all, and I've got a notorious pirate in my head giving me all sorts of commentary… And I'm looking forward to that film. We'll have to see it together. Thanks for the constant support and the review! You're one of my muses.  
_Lightning_: Silly me…I've read enough of those types of novels to know that myself, and yet I did use ravage… Thanks for catching that and bringing it to my attention! Kind of a silly malapropism, really, as you can't exactly ravage a human being… Gives interesting imagery as well, but I'd rather not think of such things…. Er…yeah. Anyway, thank you! Almost as good as the time I used fowl instead of foul or lightening instead of lightning…that gosh darn English language… You get a spiffy Jack doll from my Happy Meal for bringing that to my attention.  
_Daisy_: I love dark chocolate. And white chocolate. And chocolate. I wonder what it'd do in a time capsule for so long. Thanks for the review, and the support. Just want to know the difference between a doof and a doofus…  
_Music Nerd_: Thank you for the review! Glad you love it. Hope it hasn't been too long of a wait. Since you were the first to review, you get a lovely box of mint chocolate chip Pop-tarts! They're delicious.

**Chapter Four: The Fuss**

It was a rather depressing room for a nursery. The only window was covered by ugly drapes that needed dusting far more frequent than what it received. There was a small bassinet in the center of the room. That's where Kaya had put the little stranger that was visiting the Smith household. He'd watched her carrying the little bundle as though it would break at any moment and set it down in the bassinet after it finally stopped crying. Then Mama had left the nursery without saying anything to the little boy with dark eyes and dark brown hair hiding behind the armchair. He'd been ignored for the past month. It felt like an eternity, really. No one would take the time to explain what was so important about the noisy and smelly little visitor. And no one would tell him when she was supposed to live. He hadn't even seen her yet. Susan refused to answer his questions; Kaya seemed to forget that he'd ever even been born. It just wasn't fair. He was used to being the pampered prince of the household, and now he was as ignored as the plants in the courtyard.

The boy sighed as Kaya gently touched the stranger's cheek. "Sleep, chile," she said soothingly, smiling at whatever was inside of the bassinet for a moment before hobbling towards the door. "The angels will watch o'er you." She smiled at the bassinet again, her teeth shining in the slight amount of light coming from the lamp in the little boy's bedroom that was still on. It was time for him to be put to bed as well, but no one had realized that he wasn't getting into his nightclothes, yet. He'd never felt so neglected. He watched the door until it shut and he was left alone with the curious creature everyone seemed so keen to love. Then he quietly tiptoed over to the bassinet, stepped on a small wooden box, and peered over the side.

There was a small baby inside the bassinet, snuggled into some pink and terribly frilly blankets. She didn't look like anything special as she slept peacefully, her arm stretched out above her head and her small eyes closed. She had rather long hair for a baby, fortunate enough to have been born with quite a lot. It was dark, like the little boy's. She smelled funny and seemed incredibly boring. The boy's interest quickly waned and he touched the little girl's arm, to see if her skin felt like a sausage. She kind of resembled a series of sausages put together, what with all her baby fat. She stirred slightly, moving her arm away from the boy's finger.

"_She's adorable!" Pearl nearly squealed, once she was able to see the small baby._

"_Yes…she was," Jack agreed, with a slight frown. He seemed to be getting a bit tenser as the moments ticked away in his past. Pearl didn't seem to notice and the scene continued._

"You're not all tha' special," he commented to himself, reaching for her fine hair to see what it felt like. Hopefully this stranger would only be here for a short while. It seemed as though the whole household staff had bonded to her, though… Rather bothersome, really. He tugged on a lock of her hair, slightly amused as her eyes opened and she tried to focus on her brother. She looked rather confused.

"_Is this some sort of black mark on me record?" Jack asked, suddenly, as he turned to look at Pearl._

_She slowly shook her head. "Well, no. You were just a child, you didn't know any better. It isn't until you hit about eight that bad deeds start counting against you." She paused for a moment, tilting her head as her nearly black eyes watched Jack carefully. "Why?"_

"_Well, if it doesn't count against me…I really don' see why we need to watch it." Jack smiled very slightly. Truth of it was he didn't want to see the rest of this particular time in his life._

"_Your sister obviously had quite the impact on your life," Pearl pointed out. "And we're examining all the major life-changing events, not all the times you broke the rules. It'd take far too long for that." She gently took his hand. "You don't still feel guilty for pulling her hair, do you?"_

"_Of course not," Jack replied hastily, his smile almost plastered on his face. "I just…don' want to watch this."_

"_Sorry, Jack, we have to," Pearl said apologetically. The scene soon started moving again after Jack shot a rather resigned look towards the four year old standing on the box._

Kaya chose that moment to step into the nursery to make sure that the boy was ready for bed. She frowned and coughed, causing the boy to let go of his sister's hair and whirl about, a look of alarm on his face. He quickly arranged it to one of innocence. "What were ya doin', chile?" she asked, tiredly.

"Nothing," he lied, hopping off the box. "I just wanted to see her."

Kaya sighed and stepped towards the bassinet. The baby started to wail. "You pulled Martha's hair, dincha?"

"I just wanted to see her," he protested, stepping away from the wailing bassinet as quickly as he could. Truth be told, the Martha's cries terrified him.

Kaya obviously didn't believe him because she picked him up and set him down on an armchair just out of the nursery, in another room. This was the punishment chair. Not only was it incredibly bad décor, but it was painful to sit on. Kaya was the only one who dared to do any sort of punishment to the lad and this was all she dared do. She'd sit him down on the chair and would tell him to think about what he'd done before shutting him in there for an hour or two. Today, however, she planned to do something different. Richard had recently expressed an interest in his children, when he'd first seen the baby two weeks ago. So, the old witch was going to get him.

"You stay here while I go get your father," she said sternly, wagging her finger in front of his face. He was as incorrigible as his mother had been at that age. Fully aware of how adorable he was, the boy was often seen in the kitchen getting sweets from sympathetic scullery maids. When he wasn't hungry, he would sneak outside and go to the beach, walking into the ocean far enough that the waves crashed very near to his head. He loved to dig in the sand at the beach, as well, and could sit there for hours just watching the water. He already understood high tide and low tide and knew when the best time to get seashells was. His mother adored him, instructing the household staff to spoil him shamelessly. She rarely saw him more than once or twice a day, however, relying on others to raise her firstborn as she went to parties or read tawdry novels or ran the household. Richard rarely saw him as well, choosing to continue his own interests by managing both their sugar plantations while gallivanting around with his mistresses.

The boy merely frowned at Kaya, daring her to do just that. He had no reason to fear Richard. He was confident he'd get off without a reprimand. He'd merely been trying to see what the draw was about the new baby in the house and had been teaching her that she wasn't as important as he.

Kaya sighed and left, returning with Richard three minutes later. Richard looked at the defiant little boy for a moment and then waved Kaya towards the nursery, where the baby was still crying. Kaya obediently left and shut the door of the room behind her.

"Kaya tells me you terrorized your sister," he said calmly as he knelt down next to the punishment chair.

"Yes sir," came the nearly proud reply as the boy turned to look his father in the eyes. "I am."

"You mean you did terrorize her?" Richard questioned, wondering if perhaps he didn't understand the word. It seemed that the lad did. He had quite the vocabulary already.

"No sir, I am terrorizing her." The boy smiled slightly. "She's boring an' noisy and I just wanted to see what the fuss was about."

"She's a baby, son. Girls are boring and noisy until they're older." Richard sighed slightly, realizing he was on a bit of a tangent. The boy needed to be disciplined and he was the only one in the entire house that was brave enough to do so. "You're not supposed to hurt women, John."

"_Your name was John?" Pearl asked, sounding almost amused. "Interesting."_

"_Not really," Jack replied with a hint of a smile. "My parents weren't terribly creative when they decided t' christen me, really. John Richard Smith. John Smith. 'S boring. Plus, I was named for a father I wasn't particularly fond of an' a grandfather tha' died years before I was born. Figured I needed something a bit more memorable when I started me career…but, undoubtedly, we'll get t' that time in me life, eh?"_

_Pearl nodded. "I like Jack Sparrow infinitely better," she announced after a few moments of thought. "Fits you."_

"_It's why I chose it," Jack remarked, with a soft chuckle, though he still seemed as though he were at the dentist's waiting for someone to pull one of his teeth. They lapsed into silence._

The boy sighed softly. "I know." He carefully looked down at his small hands, feigning contriteness and shame. It fooled Kaya most of the time. "I'm sorry."

"Look at me, John," Richard said with a frown. Something about John's tone of voice just wasn't quite right.

John slowly looked up at his father, an impish twinkle in his dark brown eyes that just could not be subdued. He would undoubtedly pester his sister again and again and merely apologize each time in order to escape punishment. That was something that Richard would not tolerate. His son was going to be a perfect gentleman like he was and his father had been before him.

"John, if you're going to lie to me, you'll have to do a better job of it." Richard stood suddenly. "Come on. I'm going to teach you why you'd better not be rude or uncivil towards a woman or girl ever again. You will listen to me, John." He pulled John's arm and picked the young boy up, carrying him through a maze of hallways, out the side door, to a small shack where he generally had the overseer punish the slaves he owned that made his plantations so prosperous. Richard generally did not dole out punishments himself, as it was rather brutal and bloody, but he was in the mindset that it was the only way to teach those savages. All in all, his slaves were well cared for and never went hungry, unlike many other slaves on neighboring plantations, but they were not free to ever leave the plantation, even if they were to marry someone somewhere else. When they died, they were buried in a little cemetery near the slave's quarters. Many a slave had been born while Richard's father, John, had first established the main plantation and had seen no where else in the world, unless they were lucky enough to be moved to Richard's second plantation near the sea.

"_Do we have to watch this?" Jack interrupted rather hoarsely. He looked a bit pale as he stared decidedly away from Richard and himself at a young age._

_Pearl looked a bit puzzled. Jack seemed genuinely disgusted at the thought of watching what was about to happen…no doubt it had given him some sort of emotional scarring. "I'm afraid so," she announced. "I'm sure it isn't as bad as you remember, Jack."_

_Jack merely smiled sickly and shrugged before going silent and letting the picture move again._

As this was a fairly new plantation, the shack was relatively clean and smell free. There were a few whips hanging from the ceiling, in addition to a few chains, but that was all there was. Richard set John down near a post that went up to the ceiling. "Being sorry isn't always enough, son. Sometimes you need to be punished. I've waited too long, it appears, because you've learned how to manipulate your mother and the servants. You're not going to control me as well. I am your father, and as such, have control over you. You are to never lie to me again, do you understand?"

John merely stared at his father, unsure of what to make of this new situation. He'd never heard an authoritative tone of voice like the one his father was using right now.

Richard frowned and took John's shirt off before grabbing a whip from the ceiling. "You are never to lie to me, do you understand?" When he received no reply again from the lad, he whipped John. It certainly wasn't as hard as the slaves were whipped, but it was enough to make John's skin split open and bleed. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," John replied, his dark eyes welling up with tears at the incredible pain.

"You are not to hurt your sister again or you will be whipped harder each subsequent time you injure Martha. Do you understand?" Richard whipped John before he had a chance to even think of an answer.

The boy refused to cry, though his back felt as though it were on fire. He didn't want his mother to see this, and she would undoubtedly see him if he started to cry. That's the way it always worked. He would cry and Rosalyn would come to quiet him. That was generally how he got any attention from her at all. So, he nodded, unable to speak.

"You are to respect women, John. Only use them when you have to and never let them guess why or that you're using them." Richard's voice was surprisingly calm, though he did wonder how his own father had done this to him as a boy. Whipping such a small creature seemed wrong. However, he had to carry out with the punishment or John would continue to misbehave and lie. So, he lashed the boy again. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," John said, his voice high as tears attempted to escape his eyes. Richard put the whip back on its hook on the ceiling. He looked at John's bloodied back for a moment and frowned, picking the lad up as carefully as he could so as to not hurt the boy more than necessary. Richard could still remember the first time he'd been whipped and was rather empathetic as a result. John Winfried Smith had been a very harsh man, demanding perfection from Richard and punishing imperfection swiftly. Richard did have to admire the fact that John wasn't sobbing uncontrollably. His son was strong.

"_I still 'ave faint scars from this," Jack said softly, turned away from himself and his father. He didn't need to see it again, he'd already experienced it. "I was four years old, Pearl. Four."_

_Pearl sighed, her eyes welling up with tears. This was hard to watch. She couldn't even speak, aghast at what had happened to her valiant captain at such a tender age._

"_Certainly did beat a sense of decency in'o me, though," Jack remarked, softly. "I never hurt Martha again, even when she got me upset like little sisters do. An' I generally never lied t' me father…at least, until I learned how to lie better." He chuckled, but it disappeared quickly. "I've never hit a woman, either. Maybe it was a good lesson…" He sighed, shaking his head, before silence overcame the two and the scene started once more._

"Come, now, let's get those cleaned off so that you don't fall ill. Remember, if you are ever mean to Martha or try to lie to me again or misbehave, it'll be twice the number of lashes." Richard started towards the house. "I expect you've learned your lesson, but I'll have Susan keep a sharp eye on you."

John nodded. "I'll be a good boy," he promised.

"Will you take care of your sister?"

"Yes, sir." John seemed to be having a hard time not screaming with each step his father took.

"Good," Richard responded, genuinely pleased. Perhaps John wouldn't need further whippings. He was about to reach for the door handle to step into their home when it suddenly opened. A rather furious Rosalyn stepped out, her dark eyes trying to set Richard on fire or something.

"What have you done to him?" she asked sharply as she noticed the blood from John's bare back. Richard had forgotten to pick up his shirt.

"I taught him a lesson. Something you've neglected to do, I might add." Richard's tone of voice was rather challenging.

"He's just a child!" Rosalyn protested, reaching for John. The little boy was watching the interchange avidly, his pain temporarily forgotten.

"He needs to learn discipline, Rosalyn. He rules the house just by threatening to cry. That's not right. He needs to learn his place." Richard stepped slightly back so that Rosalyn couldn't grab John. Richard now seemed rather upset. Rosalyn was a beautiful woman, to be certain, but there were certain aspects of her personality that still needed some tweaking. She got on his nerves rather quickly anymore, since she'd started developing a few personal opinions.

"He'll be someone great someday. Why not give him the freedom he wants?" She grabbed for him again, but Richard merely stepped back once more.

"He's four years old, Rosalyn. He doesn't need freedom. What he needs is a mother who actually cares about him, takes notice of what he's up to. John isn't some sort of doll or pet. If we coddle him now, he'll never learn anything for himself. He'll be just like you."

Rosalyn's eyes widened in disbelief. Richard had never been so cruel to her before. "And that's a bad thing?" she retorted, not really sensing where this was going.

"Yes, dearie. You need to grow up. Haven't you wondered _why_ I'm never home? Honestly, you're like a ten-year-old." He shook his head and laughed fairly bitterly. "Still pining away for that pirate, are we, luv?"

Rosalyn looked as though she'd been slapped. She just stood there, gaping at Richard as though he'd sprouted a tentacle made of spinach between his blue eyes. How did he know?

"Oh, yes, you told me all about him one night in your sleep. Gets rather old to be with you when you're thinking of someone else. How long have you harbored feelings for such a strong buccaneer? Hear about him in your weekly gossip gatherings while sipping tea? See a wanted poster that struck your fancy? Do tell, Missus Smith." He was very clearly mocking her.

"None of your business," Rosalyn spluttered, glad he didn't actually know the truth. John looked far more like her than Richard, which was good, but he was starting to look quite a lot like his actual father.

Richard laughed dryly, looking down at John. "See, son? Women are weak creatures. They enjoy a handsome face and flowery words. Have both and they'll shower you with attention. In fact, they'll do anything you ask them to." He glared at Rosalyn for a moment before taking John inside the house to tend to his injuries. Things would be different in the Smith household after this spat.

"_They liked t' use me as fuel to their arguments," Jack commented, looking more like his old self. "In retrospect, they're actually a bit silly. Then again, me parents were always silly…too concerned about what the other one was thinking to do much parenting. Or living, for that matter. I never realized I picked up so many habits from me father."_

_Pearl glanced over at him. "Yes…well, everything has to come from somewhere, Jack. I would have never guessed that you'd been raised by people who could barely be civil to one another."  
_

"_Oh, din' you know? The only thing that civil people are good a' doing is insulting one another. Me mum got a lot better at it as I got older. Sit in a room wiv five aristocrats an' you'll hear more insults in one hour than you would in a tavern full of drunkards. People in high society are mean t' one another. Gossip spreads like wildfires." Jack shook his head. "I had to get out. Of course, tha' doesn't happen for another eleven or so years. The fights between me mum and father just…well, they were the same thing over an' over again for those eleven years. I hope we don' have to see them."_

"_Of course not," Pearl replied, with a smile. "We're focused on you, not them."_

"_Good. Tha's the way it should be." Jack grinned conceitedly, realizing that, of course, this was his life story and not anyone else's, so it wouldn't make sense for them to focus on anyone but him. _

_Pearl laughed softly. "Shall we continue?" she asked, shaking her head._

"_Aye! On t' the next life changing event!"_


	6. Chapter Five: The First

Disclaimer: I don't have permission to use these characters. Or the name. But I did. So, ha.

_Author's Note (7/31/06)_: Wow. I don't know how this chapter got so long. But it did. And since it is so long…I've decided that I'm going to put responses to all replies on my personal website that I just started up. So, if you'd like to see my personal acknowledgement and answers to your questions, check out (sans the spaces and without www):.(catgirlutah. tekcities. com/site/ Webpages/ home.htm) Of course, if you'd rather not…no worries. I'll reply to your reviews anyway. I'm so grateful for all of the encouragement I've received. Makes a girl feel proud.

**Chapter Five: The First**

John Richard Smith led a very interesting life. His mother showered him with attention, gifts and freedom while his father became the disciplinarian who never gave anything but deflating comments and good whippings when they weren't busy arguing with one another how the sole male heir to the Smith fortune should be raised. John, as a result, preferred to stay away from both and do his own thing. He didn't know if he liked either of his parents as he lay in bed each night, staring up at the ceiling as he waited for sleep to come. Neither ever tried to actually get to know him or Martha. They were so busy arguing, they didn't seem to realize they had an adorable daughter with inquisitive blue eyes and a smile that charmed anyone. The first word out of Martha's mouth was John. The second, Taya, because she had a hard time with the k sound until she turned three. John was a superb older brother, always watching out for Martha. He taught her how to sneak cookies and snacks between meals, all the best places to hide liver or pâté or anything else exotic the cook fixed that didn't taste very good at all, and where to hide to stay up and watch the great balls their parents would throw to keep up appearances. She followed him like a shadow. It never appeared to annoy John, even when his friends mocked him for it. He was determined to keep his promise to Richard. A man was only as good as his word, after all.

John and Martha enjoyed the most remarkable adventures together, when he wasn't in school. John had a very vivid imagination which only became wilder when he learned a particular word in school that seemed to resonate within him: piracy. John loved learning about the short-but-action-packed career of William Kidd. He savored the story of Edward Teach, the most infamous pirate ever to plague the Caribbean, and was thrilled when he learned about Calico Jack Rackham, Anne Bonny, and Mary Reade. He would repeat their stories to Martha with a few embellishments. Often, he felt as though he'd been born at the wrong time. All the members of the Order of the Brethren were dying out, either at the end of a noose or from disease. There were only a few left and no one new had been inducted for quite some time. Being a pirate was becoming harder. Naval captains now had permission to hang a pirate at a port, if they were captured, rather than taking them all the way to Bristol, like what happened to Captain Kidd after he stole from the British East India Company. Where once there had been thousands of buccaneers after the Thirty Years War, now there were only hundreds. The number was diminishing, greatly. There were tales of pirates being hung from the yardarms of naval ships floating about in the Caribbean. They didn't deter the lad, however. As he sat in his classes learning of such things as Dante, division, and mostly useless history unless it involved piracy, John was dreaming of becoming the best and most famous pirate in the Caribbean, better even than Henry Morgan. They would talk about him for years…

If only Martha were a bit older, they could leave. He didn't want force her to stay with their parents. The only thing Richard and Rosalyn were good at anymore was constant bickering. Kaya was going blind and Susan had left long ago with most of the household staff. John was nearly fifteen and she was nearly eleven and he wasn't sure if the two of them could survive together just yet on the open ocean. Most ships didn't allow a woman aboard, even if she was just a child, and John wanted to make sure that she could defend herself before they left. If anyone discovered she was a woman…well, he didn't really know what would happen, but he assumed it was bad.

The moment the schoolmaster with his pinched nose and wide-set eyes finished the lesson on Chaucer one particular afternoon, John was out of the small schoolroom faster than a squirrel on snuff. He didn't particularly enjoy the man's lessons, as he had a deep and terribly boring voice, but he did enjoy learning. John was a voracious reader. He wanted to learn as much as possible about the world now, before he left, because of the fact that most of the old sailors in Havertown weren't very literate and he figured he needed to know more than everyone else on his crew to become captain. They all had to know a lot, after all, to avoid capture, as well as having to impress the rest of the crew to become captain. Pirate ships were an anomaly in the world; they were run like a democracy. Each mate had a say in who would lead them, and if John wasn't the best, he would never be what he wanted to be. A quartermaster or first mate just wasn't as good as captain.

He quickly dashed through the town towards the plantation, anticipation and excitement clearly visible on his rather handsome face as he went about. John kept his hair long, as was the fashion, and only put it into a ponytail when he was forced to. Since he was on his way home, he pulled the tie out and let his dark hair free. The breeze felt remarkably good as he cut through the fields and into the house, nodding at the pretty scullery maid named Betsy who'd been eying him approvingly lately before barging into the nursery where Martha was forced to stay practically all day. Since she wasn't a boy, she had to stay at home with a governess. Rosalyn had mentioned something about finishing school in London, but John figured that was just talk. They would never really send her away, right?

"Master Smith…how many times must I ask you to stay out of my classroom until four o'clock?" a rather amused voice feigning exasperation asked. Martha was sitting at a small desk in the depressing room, turned and grinning at her older brother. He always rescued her from her lessons, thankfully, even if they were quite good.

Martha's rather attractive governess was sitting at a desk in the front of the room, a grin gracing her lips and revealing very white and straight teeth. She had hair that seemed brown at times and blond at others and eyes that matched. They never decided what color they wanted to be. Depending on her outfit for the day, they'd adopt a color to match. Currently, they were bluish. She was only a few years older than the young man and already an inch shorter, though she suspected John would grow more as time passed. It was completely clear that as soon as he was a bit older, he'd be quite the lady's man. His eyes, dark and thoughtful, were the type that a woman could lose herself in. He had high cheekbones and was in the process of perfecting a grin and a conceited manner that women simply could not resist.

"_I'd forgotten how pretty she was," Jack remarked with a slight smile as he examined his sister's governess, Abigail. "Nice woman. Martha's favorite governess… She went through a lot of 'em. Not because she was a bad child, bu' because me father would get sick of them."_

"At least once more, luv," John replied with a wink as he stepped into the room proper. He was grinning right back at both of them, alternating his glance between the two.

"John!" Martha said excitedly as she stood and rushed to his side, her dark hair trying its best to keep up. She always seemed so energetic when John was around. "What are we going to do today?"

John glanced down at his little sister and grinned all the broader, a mischievous look to his eyes. "Well, I've 'eard a few rumors tha' the infamous Black Bart Roberts was seen in these areas not too long ago, li'le Sparrow." Her nickname had come about when she'd seen John playing with a wooden disk with a sparrow on one side and a bird cage on the other in the middle of a string. When you wound the string up and then pulled it apart, it gave the appearance of being caged as the disk spun around. She'd liked it so much, he'd given it to her and had tried to find a sparrow for her to have as a pet, but the egg he found never did hatch. The nickname did suit her whenever she was with John, however. She'd tilt her head to examine objects and would flit around very much like a bird. "We're goin' t' check and see if said rumors are true." John generally developed a thick pirate accent whenever he was around his sister. He'd been perfecting it over the years with her. When she was smaller, she would giggle every time he said something in said voice. Now it just felt natural.

"Black Bart, eh?" she asked, trying to conceal a smile and be serious. She wasn't quite as good at the pirate accent, but enjoyed the game nonetheless. John was always the captain. Sometimes, she was the maiden in distress, but she was generally the first mate. "We could take him."

"Of course we can," John corrected her gently. "Jus' need t' find him first, eh?" He looked towards Abigail, who had come over to listen. "Now, would a bonny lass as fine as yerself like to come along this time, luv? We could use another faithful pair o' hands before the mast."

Abigail thought for a moment and then nodded, clearly excited to be included in the game this time. Just because she happened to be a governess didn't mean she didn't like fun at all. Besides, it sounded a lot better than an evening alone with Richard. "Aye, Cap'n," she replied, with a salute. She seemed rather amused by the look on Martha's face at hearing her cultured teacher speak in such a way. "An' what shall I do?"

John thought for a moment and smirked, casually putting his hand on her arm. "Well, luv, when you're not busy keepin' me company, you can be in charge o' provisions. We're going t' be out at sea for at least a day."

Abigail nodded and blushed. Heaven help the female population when John learned how attractive he was in their eyes… "Aye, Captain. I'll go an' get a few rations from the galley." She saluted him again and flounced off towards the kitchen in a way that John couldn't help but notice. It was odd how much more appealing women were these days.

"John, didja find the ship yet?" Martha asked anxiously as soon as Abigail was out of the room. You couldn't be a pirate without a proper ship, after all.

John nodded. "Aye, li'le Sparrow, I did. Found it like I did in me dream." He'd long been having a dream in which he found a small fishing boat careened on the shore near a particular cove not many knew about. This particular morning, before class, he'd checked the area and had discovered what he decided to christen the _Rêve_, in honor of its sudden appearance. He didn't see the connection between telling his mother about said dream a few days ago and her sudden appearance on the shores quite yet. He thought it was merely his good luck and a premonition. "She's jus' waiting for us. D' you think you can change out of yer dress? I'd hate for ye t' get in trouble if it got dirty." Actually, he'd hate to get in trouble for taking her somewhere where she could get it dirty.

Martha nodded and dashed off to her bedroom, which was connected to the nursery, to change out of her frilly dress and into some of John's old clothes as quickly as possible, excited beyond description at the prospect of actually going out to sea with her older brother. If they managed to leave in the next half hour, no one would notice until well after they were in danger of being discovered. Kaya was busy napping and the other servants in the nursery were busy gossiping and eating their lunch while Martha supposedly had her lessons. Rosalyn was somewhere in her own bed chambers thinking how best she could retaliate at Richard's latest scathing remark. John and Martha probably wouldn't even be missed by them until Sunday, when they were bundled up in itchy and hot dress clothes and forced to pay lip service at church in order to please the public. Neither child particularly enjoyed Sunday services. They both knew it was just part of tradition, for Richard certainly and openly did not live like a good man should and was still respected by the vicar because of a generous donation.

Martha returned a few minutes later, looking very much like a boy at about the same time Abigail returned with several sacks full of plundered foodstuffs. Somehow, she'd also procured herself a pair of trousers and a white shirt. She smiled at John and handed him the pilfered food before disappearing to change out of her dress and into her disguise. When she came out of her room, John found himself more than a little distracted. He'd never seen a woman wearing trousers before, and Abigail had very nice legs indeed. It was considered indecent for women to show anything above the ankle and he suddenly wondered what she would look like without anything on at all…but those were thoughts for another time. Martha was pulling at his hand, anxious to go and see the _Rêve_. They snuck out of the house without a hitch.

It didn't take very long for the group to reach the small cove John had moved the _Rêve_ into before rushing off to class to avoid punishment for being late. He loaded all of their supplies inside a few of the compartments, helped Martha and Abigail climb on board, puzzled at the feeling shooting up his hand when he touched Abigail's, and then cast off using an oar.

"_Out of curiosity…what would the _Rêve_ look like in human form? I mean, you were absolutely beautiful, an' I'd just like to know…" Jack grinned slightly as he watched himself on the water for the first time. It was amazing how vividly and accurately he still remembered that day._

_Pearl frowned, looking slightly hurt for half a moment before she turned to look directly at him. "Why? Is all you think of beautiful women? Am I not good enough for you, Jack?"_

"_Well…of course ye are," Jack said hastily as he turned to look at Pearl. She looked furious. Maybe he should've kept his mouth shut. "I was just…curious," he finished lamely._

_Pearl shook her head, looking indignant. "Captain Sparrow, you are insufferable!" She glared at him for a moment, but could still see that spark in his eyes. Sighing, she added, " If you really want to know…" She rolled her eyes so far back that Jack could see only white. He blinked for half a second and then swore quite loudly, startled at what he saw. Pearl had become something that very vaguely resembled a woman that had gotten into a fight with a ferocious lion while smelling like rotting fish. She had a hole in her face that Jack could see clean through and her dress was bloodied and ripped._

"_Oh," he remarked, pulling a face. The _Rêve _certainly was not Pearl. Not anything remotely like her. "I see." He shuddered slightly. "Sorry for being curious." He closed his eyes, anxious to get that vision out of his mind. When he opened them again, the even more beautiful Pearl was back, a frown on her lovely visage. She slapped him across his left cheek before folding her arms and looking back at the scene. Jack's mouth rounded in pain. She knew how to slap. "You're much more prettier," he announced, before turning and closing his mouth. He'd definitely made a mistake there. Hopefully she'd forget about it, but it was doubtful. Jack knew what was coming, after all. He was slightly relieved when he saw her smile slightly, but then the picture started moving again._

John quickly maneuvered the _Rêve _out of the small cove and into the open ocean. Watching the port slowly disappear into the distance was a thrill he had long imagined but never actually experienced. It was so beautiful, the miles of open ocean calling to them, that the lad almost got a bit teary-eyed. He'd never imagined this rush of freedom. He could go _anywhere_ the wind decided to take him.

Excitedly, he set the sail and then sat down near the stern, grabbing hold of the rudder. They weren't ready to actually leave and start their adventure, unfortunately. Abigail was with them, for one. As much as he liked her, he didn't want her to come with them. It would be very hard for her to dress like a believable boy. She was very clearly a woman and women were supposedly bad luck out at sea. Didn't seem to make any sense to John, as most figureheads at the bow of the ship were females and the ships themselves were referred to as "she" and "her", but, then again, a lot of things in the world didn't make any sense at all. It was just the way things were.

"John, aren't we getting a bit far from shore?" Abigail suddenly asked anxiously, breaking his reverie rather abruptly with her sweet voice.

He blinked and realized, in fact, they were. A boat this small wouldn't do very well in the open ocean, so he made a small adjustment to the angle the rudder was at and steered them towards a small island. He'd decided they'd have their latest adventure on this small island because it was so far out of the way of the major traffic to the port. "That'd be Captain, luv, not John," he chided with a smirk.

"Sorry, Captain," Abigail said meekly before laughing. "How long do you intend this sojourn to be?"

"Well, I don' particularly wan' another whipping, so, we'd best return before Sunday. Late Saturday evenin', I think."

"Can't we stay longer?" Martha pleaded, slowly releasing the side of the craft to look at John imploringly. She seemed rather frightened of the water, as well as a bit ill from the not-so-gentle rocking of the boat, and was consequently rather pale.

"Sorry, Sparrow, bu' I don' think it'll take us more than a day or two a' the most to find Bart's treasure." Even though Martha's eyes were full of pleading and he usually caved to nearly all of her demands, John really didn't want another whipping. His last one was still healing.

Martha sighed softly but accepted John's decision, grasping onto the side of the boat again so tightly her knuckles turned white.

The _Rêve_ soon reached the small island and John pulled it ashore with Abigail's help as Martha, pale and quiet, sat down underneath a tree to try and recuperate some of her strength. It had taken a lot of willpower not to upchuck over the side of the boat during the trip. She wasn't entirely sure she could handle the trip back.

John critically eyed the high water mark on the beach, finally satisfied as to where the boat was now resting. "Thank ye, luv," he said rather appreciatively as Abigail leaned over to pull out some of their supplies. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off her, really. It was unusual. She was just a woman, after all.

"It was nothin', Captain," she replied easily before pulling the rations and blankets out. "Jus' doin' me job." She giggled softly and then smiled as John took the supplies from her.

"I thought your job was to teach," John remarked with a teasing smirk before he started making camp. He was quite good at doing that in a hurry-he and Martha would often sneak into the fields at night to sleep because of the screaming and yelling fights Richard and Rosalyn would have.

Abigail laughed gently. "That's _one_ of my jobs. There's a certain expectation your father has, too." She sighed softly, a faraway look in her eyes that now seemed grey. She looked back at him. "I could teach _you_ all about that, if you'd like."

John had a slightly puzzled look on his face. What, exactly, was she offering? He smiled and decided he just so happened to want to find out. "I'd like t' get a few lessons from ye, Miss Abigail."

Abigail smiled back and glanced towards Martha, who still looked rather pale and ill. "Later tonight, then," she promised, before going to check on the little girl.

John stared at Abigail for a moment, incredibly intrigued and rather excited. He knew this trip would change him somehow. Pity he wasn't entirely sure what she was referring to. Richard hadn't ever told him why women were such valuable creatures and why he enjoyed them so much. All he'd heard were rumors…perhaps this lesson would be one to brag about during class to the other boys. He grinned at her for a moment before quickly erecting a tent for Martha and Abigail to sleep under. He planned to sleep under the stars. Then he started a fire. It was a bit difficult, as most the wood he'd gathered was still wet, but he did eventually see cheerful flames licking the wood by the time the sun started setting.

"_I really had no idea what was coming," Jack remembered, with a slight laugh. "I can't believe I used t' be innocent at one time. Almost scary, thinkin' what would've happened if I'd been innocent for longer. Might even still be innocent, for all I know." He shuddered slightly at the thought. Pearl rather pointedly said nothing in response, though she didn't seem to be seething. Simmering, maybe, but not seething. She also seemed a bit curious as to what was coming. Then again, she was a ship. Jack smiled to himself and started watching the scene again._

Martha and Abigail were sitting near the fire. Martha still looked miserable, but she wasn't complaining as Abigail warmed their rations and passed them out. She quickly ate hers and then put her knees next to her chest, staring into the fire, content to merely listen to the jumping embers and lulling sound of the sea while John and Abigail kept exchanging smiles like idiots, talking only occasionally and glancing towards her often. She couldn't understand why they kept doing that and mentioning the word bed. It was still fairly light, after all. Maybe they thought she was dying and needed sleep to recuperate from her dangerous illness. Martha had often wondered what it would be like to die.

"I don't know, John. Sounds funny, calling you Captain John." Abigail pulled a face as John poked at the fire with a stick. "Doesn't suit you. As a gentleman of fortune, you'll want something that sounds more natural and is easy to remember."

John frowned slightly. He'd never really liked his name, and most pirates went by a pseudonym anyway. "Well, luv, how does Captain Jack sound?" Jack was a common nickname for John.

"I like it," Martha piped up, her voice a bit drowsy.

"Me too," Abigail agreed. "Captain Jack Smith." She frowned slightly. "Smith sounds funny."

John nodded. "It really does…" He sighed, deep in thought. He needed a name that was memorable, but not ridiculous.

"Sparrow," Martha said suddenly, with a wide grin. "Captain Jack Sparrow."

That did sound good… "But you're Sparrow, Martha, an' I-" John started to protest.

"Well, I am your sister. First mate. Marty Sparrow." Martha giggled. "I am pretending to be a boy," she added.

"Well, that settles it," John said, happily. Captain Jack Sparrow did sound better than Captain John Smith. "From now on, ye scabrous dogs will refer t' me as Captain Sparrow. Or Captain Jack. As long as we're not home, tha' is. Don' think Father'd appreciate me changin' me name."

"Aye aye!" Martha said happily with a salute.

"_And so the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow was born," Pearl remarked, apparently having forgotten Jack's previous comment as she looked towards him. "It really does suit you."_

"_No…an' so the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow was almost born," Jack corrected her gently. He looked at his hands for a moment. "You might not want t' watch this next part, luv..."_

_Pearl quirked one of her eyebrows, clearly at a bit of a loss. She fell silent, eager to satisfy her own curiosity._

Abigail, however, smiled mischievously. "You haven't earned your new pirate name yet," she pointed out. "Have to become a man before I start calling you Jack."

"Ah," John said, with a slight frown before he looked at Martha. "Marty?"

"Aye, Cap'n Jack?" she asked, yawning.

"I want you t' scout out the tent an' make sure it's safe. Then I wan' you t' guard it." This way, Martha wouldn't feel as though she'd received a brush off from the two.

"Aye aye, sir!" Martha said eagerly, sensing she didn't want to be near the fire any longer, though she loved being in John's company. She stood and went off to the tent, yawning all the way.

The moment she was gone, John scooted over to Abigail's side. "So…about this earning me new name-wha' do I have t'-" he was cut off when he found Abigail's lips unexpectedly on his own. Kissing was something he'd done before, to be certain, but there was a fire in her eyes he'd never seen before. Talking had never seemed so unnecessary.

"_Oh," was all Pearl could say. She turned and looked away from the frozen figures and looked at Jack. "So…that's how you earned your name. Figures, what with you being you."_

_Jack smiled slightly, a reminiscent look on his face. "I was so awkward when I was younger…there were a lot of times I should've said somethin' different. But, I suppose, I was learning…" He sighed softly and then suddenly looked worried. "Does this count against me?"_

"_Yes," Pearl replied, with an almost nasty smile. "It does count against you, Jack. Relations like that with a woman outside the bond of holy matrimony?" She clucked her tongue and wiggled her finger as a small scale appeared, floating nearby her. A large black rock was added to the golden scale, tipping it to one side. It was pitiful how disproportionate the two sides were. "Definitely not good."_

_Jack sighed slightly, desperately trying to think of some excuse as to how this was actually a good thing. He couldn't. It was definitely against the seventh commandment. "Well, there's the first of many black marks," he said flatly. "Shall we continue?"_


	7. Chapter Six: The Brawl

Disclaimer: I don't have permission to use the name Jack Sparrow or his likeness. Yet I do it anyway. Go me!

_Author's Note (8/13/06)_: I'm terribly sorry it's taken me so long to update. Things have been crazy, I haven't been able to put electronic pen to paper, I haven't felt like writing…I've been a large lump, really. And I do apologize. But, I feel the dry spell has lifted and you will now be able to enjoy all sorts of new chapters…probably not as fast I churned them out before, but at least a new one once a week. Once again, I've put the replies to reviews from "anonymous" reviewers on my website…which I plan to change, but we'll see how that goes. Hope you enjoy this one enough to forgive me for taking so long…

**Chapter Six: The Brawl**

Captain Jack Sparrow was without a ship. The _Rêve_ was gone, at the bottom of the ocean after an epic struggle with some shoals. Jack had given Martha temporary control of the small craft, as he'd been rather hungry at the time and the biscuits in their supplies had been calling his name. The eleven year old did a fine job steering, as she'd finally overcome her bouts with seasickness, but didn't realize that the tide was so low and that the shoals would catch the bottom of the _Rêve _in a particular straightaway that she and Jack constantly went over. Their fine craft didn't stand much of a chance, even though Jack and Martha had desperately tried to get her free. They had to abandon her as the tide became even lower, rather alarmed to see how many holes there were in the bilge. Jack had never known such an overwhelming sorrow. Watching his brave little boat shrinking into the distance as he helped Martha swim back to shore had affected him in ways he didn't even know he could be hurt. There had been many a salty tear falling into the water. He'd learned so much from the _Rêve_ over the past eight months… He knew more about sailing than he'd ever dreamed possible and was starting to learn all of the stars and their relation to one another in the night sky. Some day, he would become a real captain and ultimately the best pirate in the Caribbean.

"_You were such a heroic captain, even then," Pearl said rather dreamily. "The way you saved your sister was very much commendable."_

"_Tha's good t' know." Jack smiled slightly, shaking his head. "I suppose it's a good deed, eh?"_

_Pearl nodded before clucking her tongue and wiggling her finger. The small scale reappeared, looking quite a bit heavier on the negative side than it had just a few moments before. Jack figured that was for all the bad things he'd done that they simply didn't have time to go over. A small white pebble was placed on the other side. Even though it was much smaller than the black rocks, it nearly balanced the scales._

"_Tha's interesting," Jack commented, pointing towards the small white pebble. "Why's it like that?"_

_Pearl smiled, looking very enchanting as she glanced towards the pebble as well. "Well, that's the mystery, isn't it? Good counts for quite a lot more than evil does in the grand scheme of things. It's complicated. Good question, though."_

"_Why is it tha' when people say that they never actually answer the question?"_

_Pearl laughed softly and shrugged her shoulders. "No one has all the answers, Captain Sparrow. Not even me. I only know what I'm allowed to know. There are things you just have to discover for yourself."_

_Jack sighed. Maybe this was just one of the great mysteries that couldn't be revealed until after the final judgment… "Right. Thanks for that." He rolled his eyes slightly and fell silent._

Right now, he was trying not to wince as he made his way towards the _Golden Lock_, one of the seedier taverns on all of Saint Kitts, with a rather sullen expression on his face. He'd just been whipped by Richard for bringing home a drenched Martha. His sister seemed to be coming down with some sort of cold and couldn't stop coughing when they made it back to the house. It was a deep and hacking cough that worried Jack. He knew that Kaya had a poultice that would scare any cough away with its strong scent, but he was still a bit paranoid that she'd die as a result of his carelessness. He'd taken extraordinarily good care of Martha, saving her life and all, yet he'd still been whipped for it. It was getting very old. He was nearly sixteen and could get along very well in the world, even without the prospect of his father's wealth. On one of his solo voyages, he'd managed to steal several crates of spice from a ship making its way into the harbor. They hadn't noticed and he'd made a very nice profit.

"I hate that man," Jack grumbled as he stepped into the _Golden Lock_. It didn't help that Richard had dismissed Abigail about a month ago. Normally, Jack would spend time with her to regain control of his emotions, but his father had robbed him of her because Martha was to start finishing school next month and apparently didn't need a governess anymore. Jack hadn't been able to properly say goodbye to the lovely woman because she hadn't told him she was leaving. Maybe she didn't know that she was until the morning she'd left and found all of her things packed. Jack didn't know. It just hurt that she was gone. She'd been a lot more fun than all of Martha's previous governesses. When he thought about it, though, he realized that _all_ of Martha's governesses had left in a similar abrupt manner. Richard probably tired of them and sent them packing as a result.

The _Golden Lock_ was incredibly noisy. One could hear it several blocks away. That was mostly because the proprietor, Benjamin Horace, hired a local band to play for his customers as they downed their sorrows or enjoyed themselves with a mug of fine alcohol. A pretty little redhead would sing for the drunkards at five o'clock on Mondays through Thursdays and would give two performances on Friday and Saturday. During that time, the place was packed. She was an expert at making men stare. Horace, as a result, made quite a profit. He was rumored to sell the finest ale, whiskey, and beer in all the Greater Antilles. His rum, well, it was deemed perfect by the urine-soaked denizens of the fine port. All of his alcohol was only ever watered down after those consuming it were too drunk to notice. The mood inside the tavern this particular night was bordering on ugly. The diva hadn't been able to perform due to a sudden onset of laryngitis and the men in port at the time were of the brutish sort in the mood to drink horror stories out of their minds.

Jack inhaled the smell of sweat and alcohol and nearly choked on the tension electrifying the room. Everyone turned to stare at him for a moment, trying to see if he was a threat or not. Ultimately, they decided he wasn't and went back to their bickering and sullen reminiscing.

Jack smiled and nodded to a few of the strumpets staring at him before walking to the bartender. He was a surprisingly clean shaven young man with dark hair and eyes. "'Lo, mate, what can I get you?" the young man asked, once Jack was seated on a stool near the bar. He was the sort of man a drunkard could spill all his secrets to and feel safe about it in the morning. Something about him just seemed trustworthy, even if he did have a business of selling secrets on the side in hopes of doing something other than giving drinks to men barely able to spell their own names for the rest of his life.

Jack hadn't really expected it to be this easy. He'd heard stories about the _Golden Lock_, to be certain, and had even watched the drunkards make their way back home at night with a few of his friends, but none of them had dared venture inside, afraid that people would know they weren't really old enough to have a need to drink. Fortunately, Jack was blessed with the sort of looks that made his age rather difficult to discern already. He could be mistaken for someone much older than he actually was. "Rum," he answered in as steady a voice as he could muster. "I want rum." His voice cracked slightly and Jack very nearly turned a shade of red. He hated puberty.

_Pearl suddenly started giggling. She looked over at the pirate captain and was unable to contain her mirth at all. "You…your voice…it…" she managed to sputter out, between laughs._

"_Cracked," Jack finished, looking vaguely annoyed. "I know. Doesn' do that any more, thank you very much." He glared at her until she was able to stop laughing. The thought of the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow going about with a squeaky voice was just too hilarious to not pause and laugh about._

The bartender only quirked a brow slightly at Jack's voice, but refrained from making any comment. The lad was obviously in need of a drink, so he bent over, grabbed a filthy wooden mug, and filled it with the golden liquid distilled from sugar cane and sweetened with molasses. He handed it to the youth before holding out his palm in the universal gesture of payment.

Jack grasped the handle of the mug in one hand and fished out a few shillings with his other, tossing them into the bartender's hands, who immediately went back to his job as listener and consoler for the ill fortuned. Jack watched him for a moment before taking his first sip of what would soon become one of his closest friends. Though there was an incredible burning sensation as the concoction went down, the youth knew immediately that this was something necessary to quench a thirst he'd been feeling for the past few days as he thought of his lamentable circumstances. It was fortunate he enjoyed the drink; rum was a staple aboard any ship as it didn't spoil like water on long voyages. Soldiers in the British Navy were actually given a ration of rum for the day, called a "tot", because of how easily the water stored in barrels in the hold would develop a layer of mold that would render it quite undrinkable. Excited, he eagerly took a large swill of the amber liquid.

"Tha's good stuff," he commented to no one in particular with a broad grin, as he set the mug down on the wooden countertop and looked to his side. There was a man there with a grey and dirty beard staring at his own drink as though trying to will it to be overflowing again. His face was weathered by many years in the sun and he looked just about ready to keel over. He was a regular of the tavern, spending his pittance he earned from hours toiling in the hot Caribbean sun producing the sugar used to create the very drink he was enjoying. He couldn't really believe he hadn't tried to come in here before now to drink the lovely amber liquid.

An hour later, Jack was surprised as he lifted his mug up to take a drink and found it to be empty. He hadn't realized he'd had so much in so little time, as this was his second mug of the stuff. He felt a curious sensation: it was as though his head was no longer attached to his body. He was both happy and melancholy at the same instant. The throbbing from his back had dulled to a mere murmur and he really wanted to burn off some excess anger towards his father. The thought of partaking in a barroom brawl almost seemed to be a good one. He so very much wanted to punch his father, to knock him unconscious or to maybe give him a good whipping and see how he felt about it. Jack couldn't stand the man anymore.

Jack set the empty mug down and turned, intending to go for a walk now that the heat of the day was just a memory, when he practically ran into a man with grey eyes and arms as thick across as a yardarm on a brigantine. He had to have been at least a head taller than the youth. "Can I trouble ye fer a piece o' eight?" he asked, the stench of alcohol overpoweringly strong as a slight smirk spread across his face and he revealed blackened teeth. He recognized Jack, of course, as son of the richest man in the area and was quite eager to take advantage of a little of that spending money.

"_I remember him being a bit uglier," Jack remarked before walking around the brute his younger self was facing. He paused, pulling a face as he found a mole with large black hairs growing out of it on the side of the man's face, above one of his chins. "Tha's jus' not right," he commented, sticking his tongue out and stepping away._

"_I can't imagine him looking any worse." Pearl shivered slightly. The man was very furry and looked as though he hadn't bathed in years._

"_Oh…I can," Jack said with a shrug and a shiver of his own. "Ye know…I think 'e was the overseer at the Tekk plantation."_

_Pearl looked over at Jack quizzically for a moment, obviously not sure why he'd thrown that tidbit in, but the man seemed lost between the past and the present and the scene shortly started up again. _

Jack shook his head, a look of supreme disgust in his dark eyes as he stepped away from the odor. "I don' happen t' have any spare ones on me, mate," he said, his voice falsely apologetic. "Per'aps some other fine gentleman 'ere-"

"Listen, pup, I wan' yer money," the man said nastily, reaching and grabbing the collar of Jack's shirt with his fat fingers. "An' if'n you know wha's good fer ya, you'll give it 'ere." He pulled Jack off his feet so that he was eye level. "Understand?"

Jack smiled very slightly. "Ye know, mate, I jus' so happen t' be in a givin' mood," he said, quickly, as though he had every intention of handing out free money. His smile broadened as the man set him back down on the ground. Jack then reached towards his effects, where a small bag full of coins was tied to his belt. As he reached for the bag, his other hand reached for a small dagger he carried around with him. "I'm in the mood t' give you somethin' you don't expect."

"An' what would tha' be?" the man asked, greed in his eyes as he hungrily watched the hand Jack wanted him to watch.

Jack laughed slightly and then suddenly slashed at his assailant's face. The blade dug deeply into the man's cheek, causing him to scream in agony and flail his arms about, nearly knocking the youth over. "That."

The man's cries stopped and were replaced by grunts of fury as his face reddened like ripening berries. He pummeled Jack a few times before a slightly more maneuvering part of his mind told him to go for something that could cause more damage. He pulled his cutlass from a scabbard hanging from his mammoth hips. "I'm goin' t' slice you up, pup," he said, threateningly, as he jumped towards Jack and slashed his arm.

Jack frowned at the sudden explosion of pain as scarlet stained his shirt, his dark eyes probing any possible part of the situation he could use to his advantage. The only weapon he carried about was the dagger, as it could be useful in his adventures about the town. There was an unconscious man a few feet away that had a sword in plain sight, so Jack rather lithely made his way to it and pulled it out, brandishing it threateningly towards his foe. "I've 'ad a miserable day, mate, like t' see you succeed." Jack smirked slightly, thrusting his blade towards his gigantic foe like a snake attacking its next victim.

The swords clashed together with a mighty clang that made the band stop playing as all eyes fell on what was transpiring. In a place such as the _Golden Lock_, one fight inevitably led to another, so several more spats started a wildfire and soon the whole place was one mess of testosterone, drunkenness, and general lawlessness as grudges were able to be settled in rather barbaric ways. Jack did not notice, so intent was he on not having his face chopped off by the brute's blade that it seemed there was no one else in the world. He'd often wondered what it would be like, to get into a fight with someone in a way other than verbal, and now he knew bloodlust. He wanted to see blood dripping from every pore of the man who'd tried to rob him because that would somehow make the world right.

The large man certainly had advantages in sheer strength and ability to use a sword, but he by no means matched Jack in agility. As he was larger, it took longer for signals from his brain to travel all the way down to his arms and legs to get his muscles to move than it did for Jack. The lad was picking up the skill rather quickly, as well, and was doing quite a good job at delaying his forthcoming death. Large beads of sweat were on the man's forehead, accompanied by wet spots near the neck of his shirt and armpits as well. He was fast becoming exhausted as the conflict wore on, from years of drinking and from a day of hard labor. If Jack hadn't pricked his pride so badly, he probably would've given up by now and claimed it wasn't worth his time or effort.

Jack was starting to tire as well. His back was screaming with every move he made. It didn't help the fresh wounds to have salty sweat pouring over them and the back of his shirt was no longer the crisp white linen his father had him change into earlier this evening. His head was throbbing, there seemed to be something screaming at him to just end it all, and it was starting to get rather hard to hold his sword. He really wasn't sure how much more he could handle as he continued to get bruised and cut.

As fortune would have it, the brute was in the process of trying to slice Jack in half to end it all when he was hit in the back of the head by a bottle someone had flung intending to hit someone else for cheating at a game of cards. It took him a moment to register what had happened. He dropped the sword and fell face first on top of Jack, who had been preparing to parry the next blow.

They fell down to the floor and Jack soon found he could scarcely breathe with the tremendous weight suddenly on his chest. Gasping and finding no familiar gush or even trickle of something so essential to life, the youth started to panic, releasing his hold on the sword he'd borrowed and trying with all his strength to move the mass of flesh trying to suffocate him. It moved slightly, but he found that he was able to fill his lungs once more and no longer saw his life flash before his eyes.

Grinning with relief, he somehow managed to get the blob off his chest and slid out the rest of the way, rather surprised to see himself covered in blood. Puzzled when he saw no apparent source for so much of it, he turned the massive body over and discovered that he'd skewered the man right through his belly. The sword was now sticking straight up into the air. There was blood all over and the man was now very obviously a corpse.

Horrified, Jack stumbled backwards, his boot slipping on some of the blood as he did so. He very nearly fell face first into the dark pool, but managed to catch himself with his hands before doing so. He struggled back onto his feet and staggered away from the body, staring at his hands. He'd just killed a man.

Aghast at the sudden realization coming through the haze that was his mind, Jack started towards the door, craving fresh air and some water to clean his hands with. The mood in the tavern had changed quite suddenly again and Jack could've sworn they were all staring at him as he rushed out of the door. Brawls ended this way, of course, but it was still very serious to kill a man. Jack had done so in front of dozens of witnesses. If he was found and caught, he would be put in jail and likely hung for the crime. The authorities were probably on their way, as well, to end the disturbance at the noisy place.

Alarmed as that hit him like a barrel full of bricks from a great height, the young man leaned against the wall of the tavern for a brief moment before fleeing into the night. The only thing that was running through his mind was that he needed to get out of here and he needed to go somewhere safe and he needed some money or help. The only place to get that was back at home.

"_There was so much blood," Jack said, staring at his hands for a moment before looking at Pearl. "I'd never realized a man could bleed that much."_

_Pearl smiled sympathetically. "You were young, Jack. I know how much they bleed…I've had a lot of blood stain my decks over the years." She sighed softly, gently putting her hand on his shoulder. _

_Jack smiled slightly, but didn't say anything. Perhaps it still bothered him, what he'd done._

_Shaking her head, Pearl clucked her tongue and wiggled her finger. The scale appeared, along with a very big black rock. "I'm sorry Jack, but…you just killed a man," she said softly._

_Jack looked at the scale as it tipped the other direction. "I didn't mean to kill him," he blurted out. "It…happened."_

_Pearl nodded slightly. "I know, Jack, I know," she affirmed. "Unfortunately…you did kill him. This isn't something that I can overlook." She sounded very apologetic, but Jack could've sworn he saw the scale move the other direction a bit. The scene soon quickly started up again._

It didn't take long for him to get inside the Smith household, though he had paled and was shaking all over. His mind was reeling from what he'd done and all the possible implications of it and his body seemed to be acting mostly from pure instinct. He found himself in Richard's study without much thought at all.

The man was sitting in one of the armchairs, smoking a pipe and perusing a book as he waited for sleep to come. It was always difficult for him to sleep after he punished his son, though he couldn't figure why. He looked up when he heard footsteps, assuming it would be Rosalyn complaining about something or another. He was startled when he saw Jack and stood, dropping the book. "What happened?" he asked, staring at all the blood on Jack's hands and clothes.

"Father…I just killed a man," Jack said in a voice very much unlike his own. "Stabbed him, now he's dead. In the _Golden Lock_. I need help. They all saw me do it. So much blood…" He looked down at his hands, rubbing them together in an attempt to clean them off.

"Are you hurt, John?" Richard asked sharply, stepping towards his son.

"Not really." Jack continued to rub his hands together as he laughed a very high pitched and unnatural laugh. "I stuck him good. But now he's dead." He looked at Richard anxiously. "They all saw me do it. They'll tell and then I'll be hung."

Richard's eyes narrowed as he realized Jack was right. This changed absolutely everything… "We have to get you out of here," he said firmly, a plan already formulating as to how to solve this mess. "At least, for a while. You have always been interested in sailing…how does India sound? I've a few connections with the Company." Richard continued on about this and that, but Jack couldn't hear anything but the odd ringing in his ears. He'd just killed a man in cold blood and didn't particularly feel any remorse about it. Something about that was horribly wrong.

"_You know, I kept the piece of eight he was asking me for," Jack remarked almost numbly a moment later. "Later started wearing it in me hair, to remind me. The price he put on his own life, really…" Jack sighed slightly, his hand moving to a small piece of metal tied at the end of one of his numerous braids. "It was to remind me tha' I shouldn't want to do that again, e'en if things was absolutely miserable for me like they were."_

_Pearl nodded, not entirely sure what to say. "It was nice of your father to help," she finally commented._

_Jack shrugged and shook his head. "Not really. Bu', I imagine we'll find out about that whole sordid affair an' the consequences thereof in jus' a moment, eh?"_


	8. Chapter Seven: The Acquaintanceship

Disclaimer: I do not have permission to be doing this.

_Author's Note (8/21/06)_: Yes, it's a day late. I'm sorry. Last week was insane. I'm still reeling at all the crazy new experiences I've had. Anyway, here's a new chapter, at last. Only hope it's up to snuff. I thought about making it incredibly long, but decided to update now, rather than later. Thanks to all my loyal reviewers, my responses are posted on my website.  
Oh...as a rather random trivia tidbit, the Pirates of the Caribbean car that Volvo hid was apparently buried near Sutra... And the names for a few people and places are ironic in this chapter. Kudos to anyone who can figure out what I'm talking about.

**Chapter Seven: The Acquaintanceship**

Five paces away from the _Indomitable_, a man was assailed by all sorts of sights, smells, and sounds that seemed absolutely foreign. She was docked in Surat, a stronghold of the British East India Company that had been the doorway to their present strength in exotic India. It was a hub of activity, one of the greatest trade cities in the country since the Mughal emperor Jahangir gave the Company permission to trade in his fair country. Since Bombay had been taken from the Portuguese, however, Surat had started to fall into disrepair and was no longer the base of operations of trade for the Company. It was still a magnificent city, especially for young Jack Sparrow, and the bustle of coolies taking items for trade away from the _Indomitable_ was fascinating. They looked like well-trained ants moving items ten times their body weight without the slightest bit of effort.

Silks of every color imaginable could be spotted as soon as one entered the marketplace, their cheerful colors smiling at the sunlight. It was remarkable how cheap the commodity was in the country of its origin. The Company traded everyday items such as tea with the Indians and received silver, spice, saltpeter, and silk in abundance. It was a lucrative trade; once those goods made it back to Great Britain or any of the numerous colonial interests of the crown, the prices could be jacked up and immense profit could be made. It made it very tempting for pirates to attack Company ships. The Company was paranoid about the buccaneers and took great precautions to prevent attacks. Often, they hired local sailors to hunt the pirates and turned the other way if the wanted criminals were not brought back for a trial. Each of the superpowers in Europe was struggling to make their own companies in this exotic country, eager to make as much profit as possible.

"This way, Sparrow," a voice said gruffly as the youth found a hairy hand on his shoulder pulling him the opposite direction from where his feet had been inclined to go. Frederick Grealey had kindly taken a liking to Jack during their lengthy voyage from the Caribbean to India and had asked the captain of the _Indomitable_ if he could take Jack on as his apprentice. Grealey was one of the finest navigators the fair vessel had ever had the pleasure of carrying from one port to another and had managed to knock off a week on their journey by skillfully taking advantage of some fierce winds in a storm. Jack enjoyed the man's method of hands-on teaching and seemed to assimilate information as fast as it was available to him. Grealey had transitioned to informing the lad of the way things were to consulting him and having him check over his numbers.

"An' where are we going?" Jack asked curiously as he turned to face the pock-marked man who'd had a fight with smallpox years back and had very clearly lost. It wasn't unusual to see people with similar scars all over the world. Most women wore gobs of makeup to conceal the marks, but Grealey didn't have that option. He didn't care what others thought of his disfigured face. Jack admired him for it, though the youth wasn't about to admit to it.

"To one of the finest 'omes in all o' Sutra," Grealey replied with a rather wistful smile. "You 'aven't met a finer woman than one who works at _Lajja_." He looked at his young charge and grinned somewhat lecherously. "They 'ave quite a lot of beauties for a sailor t' choose from. Young lad such as you will 'ave your choice of exotic and erotic courtesans."

"Courtesans, eh?" Jack asked with a broad grin on his face. "Think I've got enough t' cover the cost?" The connotation of the word suggested that he'd be paying these particularly fine ladies at the _Lajja_ more than he paid the strumpets in other ports that Grealey had been more than happy to introduce him to.

"You will after we get paid, whelp." Jack wasn't entirely fond of the nickname Grealey had appointed him after he'd first caught a mistake the older and more experienced navigator had made, but he knew better than to complain because it would only lead to more nicknames that would likely be more embarrassing. One learned a lot about a man by sharing a bunk with him.

"Well, shouldn't we be headed tha' way, then?" Jack asked reasonably as he pointed towards the opposite direction, where the rest of the crew was headed.

Grealey rolled his eyes slightly. "No," he answered simply as he continued to walk towards the _Lajja_. He didn't even seem to notice the noisy marketplace, complete with a man wearing a turban and loincloth busy charming a dangerous snake to come out of a pot or another man wearing large blue _pyajama_ pants that ballooned out from the waist to the ankles busy making a rope straight and strong enough for his small son to climb up. "I just so 'appen to 'ave your cut with me, whelp. No sense in troubling 'Arry. 'E was kind enough to give me an advance as well as yourn."

"Ah," Jack replied sagely, grinning. That meant he didn't have to stand in line for hours on end with a mysterious city calling his name right behind him as Harry Hucker meticulously went through the sums. "How did you manage that?"

"I 'ad me a fine streak o' luck t'other day while you were busy sleeping." Grealey grinned, patting a small bag of money to his side. The sweet sound of coin hitting coin could be heard by the youth and he grinned right back as Grealey carefully took the bag, opened it, and pulled out a few coins. He tossed them to Jack as several waifs looked hungrily on. "Don't you be spending it until we get to _Lajja_," he warned, shooting a sideways glance at a gorgeous little girl with wide eyes that was missing most of her left foot that Jack was watching. "Once you give to one, you're marked as a giver and they will take advantage o' you. Leave you with nothing."

Jack frowned slightly as he stared at the girl. She reminded him of Martha. His sister left town at about the same time he had, bound for London and a finishing school so that she could become a real lady. She'd probably already been there for a month or so and Jack had a nasty feeling that he would never see her again. So, once Grealey turned, Jack slipped the little girl a few pieces of eight. The large smile that appeared on her face was enough for him to not feel bad about being generous. It would probably be enough to feed her for a week. She touched his hand gently before carefully guarding the money and leaving the crowd that was now gathering around Jack anxious for a hand out as well. She couldn't let anyone see it or she would soon lose it.

_Pearl smiled at the little girl frozen in place before looking at Jack. "That was incredibly generous of you."_

"_I know," Jack replied, glancing at the little girl as well. "I did do nice an' generous things, on occasion. She had eyes very much like Martha's, e'en if they were different colors. I couldn't just watch her walk away with nothin'."_

_Pearl nodded as the scales appeared and another small white stone appeared. "True generosity is that which isn't rewarded at the time. You obviously had nothing in mind other than helping her when you slipped her those coins. Most people who are charitable only are when others watch."_

"_I don' really approve of those sorts," Jack remarked with a frown. "A man shouldn' be afraid to be who he truly is on the inside to everyone. No sense in bein' generous if you're not inclined t' do so of your own free will."_

"_Exactly." Pearl gently kissed his cheek and they allowed the scene to start up once more._

"How far is it t' _Lajja_?" Jack asked quickly, hoping his companion wouldn't notice the flux of beggars now headed towards them. He put his hand protectively over the pouch where he kept his money and put the rest of his pay in. There were probably a lot of visitors to this country that ended up losing all of their money due to thieves.

"Not much further," Grealey replied, sufficiently distracted as he continued to make his way down the marketplace towards their destination. Grealey seemed not to notice all of the unfamiliar sights, smells, and sounds. He had a rather excited look in his eyes that made Jack anxious to see what was so great about _Lajja_. Perhaps the women were of a different variety on this side of the world and knew all sorts of fun tricks that women of European descent wouldn't even dream of…or, perhaps Grealey had a different view of exotic women.

It didn't take them very long to reach the beautiful building known as _Lajja_. The owners had clearly gone to great expenses to make the outside as lovely as any of the flowers ripe for picking on the inside. The outside of the building was white marble and looked like a miniature Taj Mahal designed for the living rather than the dead. There was a lovely fountain right outside of the front door that spanned as much length as the _Indomitable_. In the very center of the fountain was a statue of a veiled woman dancing. She seemed to actually be moving, though it was clear she was carved from the same marble the rest of the compound was made of. The gardens were such a vibrant green that it almost hurt one's eyes to stare at them for long, complete with brilliant splashes of yellow, orange, and any color you could pick out from a rainbow. The trees and their shade seemed incredibly inviting on the somewhat sultry day common to the city.

It was fairly amusing to the youth how many men were flocking to the grand architecture, going into the building without even pausing to admire the scenery and murals of nubile gods and goddesses and scenes depicting different versions of creation. Most of the men were clearly quite affluent Indian citizens wearing jewels and fine silks, but there were quite a lot of Europeans headed inside as well. Most were British, members of the East India Company with a day or so of leave and money in their pockets, but some were French, Dutch, and Portuguese. Jack watched in amazement as four men carried a litter, or _palanquin_, on their shoulders and set it down near the stairs where a man wearing terribly ornate shoes stepped out and then up the stairs to do his business. He was clearly very well off financially, or he wouldn't dare wearing such fragile shoes. Jack wondered what it would be like to never have to walk anywhere for a brief moment before deciding he preferred doing so. It kept a man in far better shape. It seemed that the wealthier a man was, the more rotund he was as well. It was as true here as the rest of the world.

As Jack stood and gaped at what was going on around him, Grealey made a beeline straight to the entrance and was inside before Jack really realized that he was gone. It had been a very long journey from the Caribbean and Jack was reasonably sure most of the rest of the crew would come here or somewhere similar to work off excess energy. Long voyages at sea could drive a man absolutely insane, regardless of his relationship with women, because of how long he was forced to spend on a ship without any females about at all in a confined space with smelly men. Even naval ships' captains looked the other way as soon as they hit a port as their men went to visit the local brothels. Even the most faithful sailor was extremely tempted to forget that pair of blue eyes and the bushel of children back at home when the lovely ladies started to strut their stuff. How could a man travel all the way to India and not experience all it had to offer?

Chagrinned, Jack chuckled at his own actions and then walked up the steps leading to the entrance of the _Lajja_. His dark eyes widened in absolute amazement as he saw the inside of the structure. There were silks of nearly every color hanging from the ceiling and giant murals of beautiful women on the walls. What really caught his eye, however, were the beautiful women standing and waiting for a customer. Most wore _saris_, which were large strips of cloth wrapped around the waist and then generally draped over a shoulder. Underneath, some of the women were wearing petticoats and a _choli_, a short-sleeved and midriff baring blouse. Some were only wearing the _sari_, seeing no need for 'modesty' in a place such as this. Others wore elaborate veils and probably catered to those belonging to another prevalent faith in the area.

Jack merely stared at the exotic beauties with dark eyes lined with some sort of dark makeup, dark hair, and expertly painted lips. They all seemed so foreign and yet desirable at the same time. He just stood there and stared for a few moments until he was approached by one of the proprietors, a large man wearing a turban, many jewels, a fine silk shirt, and a pair of ostentatious blue _pyajama_.

"Greeting, greeting sahib," he said grandly, bowing slightly at Jack. "I am Ameen." He bowed again. "How can I be of service to you, sahib?"

Jack eyed Ameen carefully for a moment, slightly surprised at how quickly the man had come up and introduced himself. Did the youth really seem so completely helpless and lost? Jack had no idea what to say and found himself looking for Grealey. The pock-marked man was no where to be seen. "I…er…"

"Are you in need of a woman?" Ameen asked anxiously, looking eager to please. He'd only been a greeter of foreigners for a week or two, now, and was still getting used to it. "We have plenty of women, sahib. Take your pick." He motioned towards the wall were nearly twenty women were standing like cattle to be auctioned off.

Jack looked to where the man was pointing, a thoughtful look on his face. "Ah," he said with a slight grunt. "You do have plenty of women, to be certain." He looked back at Ameen, anxious to get rid of his beginner aura. Jack didn't like to be the one experiencing something for the first time that everyone talked about. Already, some of those visiting the _Lajja_ were staring. "Do any of them speak English?"

Ameen nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, sahib, yes," he added, emphatically, to prove his point. "You would like one that you can talk to, no?"

"Yes," Jack confirmed, allowing a slight smirk to grace his features for a short while. "How much?"

"Depend on the woman," Ameen replied, with a low voice. He smiled broadly at a few other customers of the house of ill repute before looking back to his young charge. "How much willing to spend?"

Jack shrugged. "I'll tell you when I see the woman I want. Show me what you've to offer."

Ameen nodded and bowed yet again, nearly hitting Jack's head with his own. With grand flourish, he started towards three women standing together. One was dressed in a dark green, one in a rose color, and one in a violent violet. They stopped their tittering and giggling the moment Ameen approached with Jack in tow. All but the one in violet looked down demurely at the floor. "These fine women, sahib. Very clean, very skilled."

Jack carefully looked at all three of them, amused by the look in the one wearing violet's eyes. She clearly didn't like being part of a crowd. The others had likely belonged to a harem of sorts before coming to the _Lajja_ to earn some money. "Can you all speak English?" he questioned, trying to not show his interest in any of them in particular.

"Yes," came the chorus of replies. The one in green looked at Jack briefly, lust in her eyes as she surveyed his good looks. "We speak English most good, sahib."

"I can see that," Jack replied with a chuckle, shaking his head slightly and smirking. He really didn't seem his age at the moment. "Which one of ye would prefer my company for the evening?"

Both the one in green and the one in rose eagerly held up their hands, as did a few other women standing nearby, but the one in violet merely stared at Jack. There was something incredibly alluring about her eyes and Jack had a hard time staring at any of the other lovely ladies who were perfectly acceptable.

Ameen looked at Jack anxiously. "Will it be all three, sahib?"

"Oh…no," Jack said, with a laugh as he considered what that would be like. The one in green looked most disappointed. "At least, not yet."

"Then which one?" Ameen pressed, eager to move onto another customer.

"That one," Jack replied confidently, pointing towards the one in violet. "I want that one."

"Good choice, sahib," Ameen said appreciatively. "Kajal is very good at her art, even if she is a bit outspoken." He glanced at the woman reprovingly before holding his palm out to Jack for payment. "Eighteen. Half now, half after, for her."

Jack nodded and pulled out eleven coins, pressing them into Ameen's hands. The man stared at the payment hungrily for a moment bowing. Jack had offered far more than he personally thought Kajal was worth. The temptress often scared customers away with her manners. Then again, she'd come from one of the lowest castes in society and didn't know how to act civilized. The only reason she was still here was that she was beautiful and could get a lot of money out of men without any effort at all.

Ameen smiled towards both of them as the other two alluring women went elsewhere to find a mark for the night. "Thank you, sahib," he said graciously. "May your bed be full of enjoyment tonight." He bowed one final time before disappearing to help another gentleman find the perfect companion for the night.

"Do not stare at me, _dalit_," Kajal said rather suddenly, once Ameen was out of their sight. She was glaring at Jack, clearly not all that thrilled to be bound to spend the evening and night with a boy such as he. "I am not an object."

"Curious that a woman in your profession is bein' so forceful," Jack commented, not really all that surprised to hear the fire spouting from her full and very kissable lips. He smiled slightly, tilting his head to one side. "Shall we go, then? Or would you prefer I take you 'ere an' now?"

Kajal's eyes narrowed and she looked as though she would spout off a retort, but stopped herself when she noticed one of the owner's eyes on her. "This way, sahib," she said, forcing a smile and taking his hand. She led him directly to one of the rooms, practically dragging the man along as he watched several other lovely ladies actually try to impress their patrons for the night. How many of these places were there in this country? Were there some in the Caribbean he just wasn't aware of? Perhaps they merely catered to sailors because they wanted their money…

Before he knew it, Kajal had pushed him into a vacant room and shut the door. It was a comfortable room, full of pillows on the floor and little else. He blinked for a moment and found Kajal in his arms when he opened his eyes again. She quickly kissed him without any sort of passion at all, which really surprised Jack. He was used to women literally throwing themselves at him to get a taste of his mysteriousness. Once she pulled away and started tugging at his clothes, he put his hand up. "Wait a moment," he protested. "This isn' right."

"It's what you paid for," Kajal replied with a scowl as she let his white shirt drop out of her grasp. She stepped backwards slightly. "Isn't it? You clearly just need to sow a few oats or burn off some excess energy or something…that's the only reason you would come to a place like _Lajja_."

"Not necessarily. Might jus' want some companionship."

Kajal laughed bitterly. "Oh…I believe that, sahib," she whispered cynically. "You want me, you paid for me…take me and get it over with so I can impress another European and earn more money."

Jack looked at her curiously for a moment before taking a seat on one of the numerous pillows. He wasn't entirely sure why he was behaving so curiously. Generally, he disliked conversing with strumpets. It only made things more awkward than necessary. Something about the way she resented him irked him, however. "You know, you might want t' reconsider the way you approach men, luv. Try t' be a bit demure an' all that…makes it easier for them to 'get it over with' in a hurry."

Kajal glared indignantly at Jack. "How dare you insult my technique, _dalit_?"

Jack shrugged. "From what I've seen so far, I reckon I've spent too much on you."

"_Mein aapki patni banu.ngee_," Kajal muttered under her breath, looking hurt for a brief second before sitting down on one of the pillows. "So we are just to sit here?" she finally asked after several moments of awkward silence. "Am I truly that repulsive?"

Jack shook his head quickly. "Of course not," he insisted. "You're beautiful an' very desirable…" He trailed off for a moment, staring at her. She was very hard to resist, actually. "I just…well, I don't particularly want t' force you to do anything."

Kajal looked at Jack skeptically, one of her carefully plucked eyebrows raising. "And why should I believe that? You paid for me. You own me, at least temporarily."

Jack shrugged. "I'm Jack Sparrow, luv. You can believe me." His voice was so full of confidence that Kajal couldn't help but laugh. "What?"

"You amuse me, Jack Sparrow, by acting as though you are older than you truthfully are." She wiped at a tear forming in the corner of her eye. "I doubt you are even as old as I."

Jack smirked and chuckled. "You're probably right, luv. But tha' doesn't matter, eh? Age and experience are very different."

"True," she replied. "Which is why I do not believe you. How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

Kajal looked at him incredulously. "Only seventeen?"

"Yes."

"You seem older. Most men I cater to are in their thirties or forties. I figured you would be at least twenty…" She shrugged.

Jack laughed softly and shrugged as well. "I'm only seventeen, luv. An' I'm only about halfway to my next birthday."

"Curious." She looked away from him, clearly suddenly uncomfortable.

Jack vowed that would be the last time he revealed his age to a woman. It wasn't something they needed to know, right? "Does that matter?"

"No."

Jack sighed softly, unable to shake the feeling of this whole situation being surreal. Perhaps he was just dreaming aboard the _Indomitable_. Why else would he be in a room with a beautiful woman without her all over him?

"I…have a brother your age," she finally revealed abruptly. "He would not approve of what I do." Jack looked over at the woman, astonished to find her crying. The dark makeup she wore around her eyes was running down her face. "My parents sold me. I haven't seen him in two years, even though he lives just outside of Sutra."

He had no idea how to react to that. First of all, he hated being around women who were crying. Secondly, he wasn't sure if she was telling the truth or if this was just some ploy to get money out of him. Thirdly, he had no idea how to help her stop crying. Determined to not let her know that, he merely resorted to asking her a question. "What makes you think 'e wouldn' approve?"

Kajal looked over at Jack and shook her head. "I'm a whore, Jack Sparrow."

"Through no fault of your own," he pointed out. "If 'e were to hate anyone, it would be your parents."

"This is not your culture," she said sharply. "I am no longer his sister. My parents gave up any claim to me the moment they turned me over to Ameen." She sighed and rubbed at her eyes angrily; embarrassed that she'd started to cry in front of her patron.

"Your makeup is smeared," Jack remarked, gently, as he stood and then cautiously sat down next to her.

"It's called kohl." She swallowed hard, feeling another wave of tears coming on with someone slightly sympathetic nearby. The other women here refused to talk to her because of the caste she came from.

"Well, your kohl is smeared," Jack amended, with a slight smirk as he tentatively put his arm around her shoulders. She stiffened for a moment but then quickly relaxed. "Why don' you try speaking to your brother rather than assumin' he hates you?"

Kajal shook her head violently. "No. I do not want him to see what I have become."

Jack sighed softly. "It's up t' ye, of course, but it seems t' me that if you're so worried about what he thinks about you, you really are worried about him. An'…if you're worried about him, you want t' know what he's up to. An' you can't know that unless you go investigate." Kajal was silent, pointedly staring across the room. "You'll never be able t' forgive yourself if you don' find out. Who knows when 'e might move?" Kajal remained stoically silent. "I'll go with you," Jack finally relented.

Kajal smiled slightly. "Thank you. I cannot leave the _Lajja_ unattended."

_Pearl glared at Kajal jealously for a moment before turning to look at Jack. The scales had appeared again. "What is your obsession with beautiful women?" she asked._

_Jack looked at Pearl for a moment, very much aware of how critical his answer was. He could get himself into a lot of trouble, depending on what he said. "Well…" He thought for a moment. "I'm not entirely sure. I really just like women in general, ye know. The beautiful ones are more of a challenge."_

"_They're often the worst people inside," Pearl said huffily._

_Jack looked at Pearl curiously for a moment. "I know that. That's why I generally don't make good friends out of them. They're merely acquaintances."_

_Pearl sighed slightly and shook her head. "You used women, Jack Sparrow."_

"_I know. I'm not denyin' that." He looked to the scales for a moment, surprised when a white pebble appeared along with a black rock._

"_The only reason this is considered a good as well as a bad deed is because you helped soften Kajal. She changed quite a lot after you came into her life," Pearl explained. "Even though you did use her…"_

_Jack nodded and glanced at his hands for a moment. "Right. If…if I were to still live…I don' think I would use women anymore. I…I genuinely did develop feelings for Kajal. It was more than an acquaintanceship. You'll see. I was true t' me word."_

_Pearl merely stared ahead, not in the mood to answer him at all._

"You were plannin' on this from the beginnin'," Jack commented sourly.

"No," she said softly, turning and kissing him very gently. "I was merely hoping."

"D' you try this on all the men?"

"Only the really attractive ones." Kajal laughed softly. "Or the gullible ones."

"An' which category do I fall under?"

"Haven't decided yet." She kissed him again and he could sense that she was actually enjoying it. Perhaps he had chosen correctly after all. It wouldn't be too terrible to visit her brother. He found her company incredibly stimulating. These next few months until it was decided by the Company where he should end up would certainly be interesting.


	9. Chapter Eight: The Relationship

Disclaimer: Oh…I wish I had the right to use these characters…but, I don't. So…please don't sue me.

_Author's Note (8/27/06)_: I find myself doing research on the oddest topics anymore. It's all good, though. A lot of what I had in the last chapter was very historically accurate. This one…well, not so much so, but that's okay. It's longer than the last one (I apologize to those who hate reading on a computer screen) and is introducing a character we all love to hate… Well, I know I do, at least. Anyway…I love reviews. Really. Even if they have nothing to do with my chapter.

As for the rather cryptic comment I left last time…check out the home page on my website an' you'll see an explanation.

**Chapter Eight: The Relationship**

It was a beautiful morning in Sutra. The birds were chirping cheerfully in a large banyan tree situated near the recessed window of the _Lajja_ where Kajal was entertaining Jack. Already, the temperature outside was warming. Since there seemed to be no clouds other than a small puff of white to the east in the vibrant sky, the day would soon prove to be quite oppressive to even those used to living in the country. Inside the _Lajja_, it was cool and comfortable because of the way the windows were designed. They let hardly any heat in, though they were just open holes in the side of the building. All the important buildings in India were designed with similar recessed windows. The only structures that wouldn't offer much relief from the heat of the day were the numerous hovels the poor resided in. Then again, they were used to sweating and toiling without much relief. Begging for money was a difficult job. Most of the natives had grown accustomed to seeing injured people and avoided them.

Jack was pulled from his dreams by a particularly pesky fly that kept landing on his nose. As visions of dark-haired beauties faded into memory, he tiredly swatted towards the fly to scare it away from his nose. The insect immediately took off and flew a foot away. Satisfied, Jack closed his eyes again only to have his sleep interrupted as the fly landed on the exact same part of his nose and started crawling up it, towards his hair.

Annoyed, Jack brushed his hand towards the fly again, going so far as to roll over onto his stomach to keep the pesky bug from landing on his nose once more. The annoying buzz of wings stayed away long enough for him to get more comfortable on one of the large pillows and close his eyes again. He was about to slip back into sleep when he heard the fly approach and fly right over his ear. The cursed insect then landed on the side of his nose and started climbing all over his cheek, trying to find a sweet bit of something to spit digestive enzymes onto and then to drink it up.

Provoked, Jack sat up. The fly instantly started buzzing around his head in a series of apparently random circles, buzzing incredibly close to his right ear on more than one occasion. Jack tried to move his head away from the flying nuisance, but to no avail. Finally, he sat perfectly still and waited for the fly to land, deciding the only way he'd get rid of this newest antagonist was to destroy it. The fly, sure enough, landed on his nose again.

Pleased, he slowly started moving his hand towards the insect to be rid of it once and for all. He moved so slowly, the fly had no warning until it was nearly too late as Jack brought his hand towards his nose at a high velocity. Sensing danger, the fly scurried off towards the other side of the nose and took flight just as Jack's hand hit his own nose. The impact was painful, but not as painful as seeing the accursed bug flying around his head again. Jack blinked a few times, to keep himself from crying at the sudden pain, and stood. "I'm going to get you," he vowed as his dark eyes started to track the sporadic flight of the fly.

_Pearl suddenly started laughing as the picture stopped itself. Jack's hand was still to his nose. She put her hand out to touch the fly. "Isn't it amazing how bothersome something so small can be?" she asked a bit philosophically as her companion shook his head at his younger self._

"_It is," he agreed vigorously, rubbing at his nose as though he'd just hit himself. "Why, exactly, are we lookin' at this?"_

"_I find it amusing," Pearl replied with a slight shrug, passing her hand through the fly before the scene started up once more._

After a few moments, he was used to the pattern of the fly and made his move, swatting at the insect and hitting it in flight. It spiraled down towards the floor, but soon recovered from the blow and flew away from Jack, towards a large mirror near the door that he'd often watched Kajal ready herself in front of.

Grinning, Jack rushed after the fly. It landed on the mirror. "Perfect," the youth exclaimed, a broad smile gracing his features as he positioned his hand next to the mirror. He waited for a few moments, disgusted as the fly started to clean its hind legs and eyes. He stuck his tongue out slightly and then slammed his hand into the mirror. When he pulled his hand back, the remains of the fly were splattered across the polished surface of the Aranmula metal mirror. They were made of a special alloy and came from a specific town in India and happened to be incredibly expensive. Those who furnished the _Lajja_ clearly made enough profit to justify something so fine.

"Maybe tha' isn't so perfect," he thought aloud as he realized how dirty he'd made that part of the mirror. He focused on the insides of the fly for a moment before glancing at himself, as is every person's habit whenever faced with a reflective surface. "Tha's…odd." Jack tilted his head slightly as he stared at the reflection. Sure enough, it was him wearing his dark hair in a loose manner that made it prone to getting quite tangled, but there was definitely something about his eyes that was different from the last time he'd looked at himself in the mirror. There was a dark rim of Kajal's kohl around his pair of dark and generally rather expressive eyes. It wasn't uncommon for a man living in India to wear the cosmetic, but it certainly wasn't something any European would ever do.

Jack blinked a few times, trying to decide if he liked it or not. Part of him wanted to wipe it off with his sleeve immediately, but another and much louder part of him wanted to keep it on. It was one of those occasions where it was meant to be. "Hmmm," he remarked, rubbing the remains of the fly off the mirror with his sleeve.

"Do you like it?" Kajal asked suddenly from the floor. Jack whirled around to stare at her. He'd assumed she was still sleeping, but she was staring at him with a rather vague smile on her face as she stretched out on the pillows. She laughed at the look on his face before slowly sitting up.

"I think so," he responded, trying to look less startled as the remains of the exoskeleton of the fly fell from his sleeve to the polished marble floors. "Certainly is unique."

Kajal smiled and stood, clearly pleased that he wasn't rubbing it off. "You should wear it forever."

Jack glanced at her and shrugged. "I might," he said ambiguously. He certainly wasn't thrilled with the idea that he had to work for the East India Company for the next few years, and wearing kohl while doing so might be a good way to show rebellion without doing anything that could get him killed or flogged. There didn't seem to be many rules in the Company about women's cosmetics. "I will," he announced with finality to his voice.

_Jack looked over at Pearl expectantly. She seemed to be quite intent on watching what was playing out before them, as she'd never really seen a man and a woman in a relationship interact with one another. "What? No comment abou' how handsome kohl makes me?" he asked, sounding hurt._

_Pearl shook her head. "You really don't need any more comments like that. Pride goeth before the fall, after all."_

_Jack groaned softly and rolled his eyes. "Tha's only true in the case of other people. I've never really taken a fall because of pride."_

_Pearl merely shook her head disbelievingly. "Everyone does, Jack. And you're just like everyone." She looked at him and put her fingers to her lips. "Quiet." He obviously listened to her, because Kajal blinked and the whole picture began moving._

"Good." Kajal walked up to him and kissed him gently, approval shining in her eyes. "You certainly are an interesting man, Jack Sparrow."

"I know I am."

"Will you go with me to visit Jaabir today?" Her entrancing eyes were full of pleading. The two had been spending quite a lot of time together for the past three months, but something would always come up to prevent them from seeing her brother.

Jack sighed softly, putting his hands on her shoulders. "I would love to," he started. "Unfortunately…I 'ave a meeting wiv a certain Cutler Beckett this afternoon as to what I'm supposed t' be doing while in India."

Kajal frowned, brushing his hands off her bare shoulder. "Come with me this morning, then."

Truth be told, Jack wasn't all that keen on meeting Jaabir. From what Kajal had been saying, Jaabir was actually a nice young man, rather than one that used women and had plans to deviate from those pesky rules created by despots. Then again, she hadn't seen him in two years and he was only seventeen…maybe there really was no reason to keep delaying this. He cared enough for the raven-haired beauty that he intended to keep his promise. "Fine," he acquiesced. "We jus' 'ave to be sure to leave before I need t' meet up with that Beckett fellow."

Kajal clearly liked that answer because she stood up on the tips of her toes and kissed Jack before quickly turning to get her least ostentatious _sari_ on. "Get dressed, then. No time to lose." She seemed both excited and worried at the same time as she quickly wrapped the fabric around. It seemed like a complicated process and Jack was very glad all he normally wore was a shirt, trousers, and a belt.

They were soon both appropriately dressed. Jack gallantly led Kajal from her sleeping chambers to outside of the _Lajja_. No one stopped to ask what they were doing, for she was clearly entertaining a client. She took him directly to her old home at a rather brisk pace even though Jack truthfully would prefer an easy-going stroll so he could soak up a few of the sights he'd never seen before. Outside of the city limits, there were numerous dark hovels and waifs wearing only a loincloth trying to collect garbage to sell it for some food. The farms that were maintained well were in a stark contrast to all the poverty, but that was true of any port in any country.

Once they reached the correct bungalow, Kajal seemed to lose most of her fire and determination. She actually looked quite terrified as she pulled on Jack's arm and pointed. "This is where Jaabir lives," she announced, as though it wasn't perfectly obvious.

"Well, then, le's go and see him," Jack said with a slightly reassuring smile and then tugged on her arm. "I don't have all day, remember? Besides…the wors' 'e can do is ignore you." Or kill her, but Jack doubted the knowledge that his sister had been forced to become a courtesan would be all that unexpected or hated.

Kajal meekly nodded and allowed Jack to pull her up to the door. At the teasing look on his face, she knocked. Her heart seemed to catch somewhere in her throat as she awaited a response. Sure enough, she heard footsteps and then gasped as the front door opened and she saw her younger brother. He'd certainly grown more in the past two years than she had, and she was no longer taller than he was. "Jaabir?" she asked in a whisper.

Jaabir, who had been in the process of sizing Jack up, glanced towards his voluptuous sister and stared at her for a few moments, as though trying to place the voice to the face. When he finally did, his lower jaw unconsciously dropped a bit and he gaped at her. "Kajal?" he spluttered. A wary look soon overcame his dark brown eyes as he crossed his arms slightly and stepped out of the doorway. It was very poignant to all three involved when he shut the door without bothering to ask her inside. He wore a turban and had a dark beard and curled mustache. He was obviously doing better than a mere sustenance farmer, for his clothes were rather clean for his profession, but he still wasn't living in the splendor his sister was.

"_You've grown up, little brother_," Kajal announced with a smile after a moment of awkward silence, easily switching back to her native tongue. She didn't want to make Jaabir uneasy because Jack was there.

"_It happens in two years_," Jaabir retorted with a wince, looking rather upset as he stared at his sister. Though she'd tried to hide her profession, it was blatantly clear. "_Why do you dare disgrace our family further by coming back? You know as well as I do that you were sold for a good price and are no longer my sister._" He glared contemptibly towards Jack. "Y_ou sold your body to Europeans. You are no longer clean enough to even pass through the door of our house. You are an untouchable._"

Kajal bit her lip to keep from crying. She'd imagined hearing him say those very words time and time again as she tried to work up the courage to come here to visit with him, but had never been able to adequately imagine the pain of being severed completely from the family. "_I had no choice_," she murmured. "_They would not let me serve good Indian men. I had no prospects for another marriage._"

Jaabir shook his head, spitting on the ground to emphasize his disgust. "_That is because you were unable to throw yourself onto Ekbal's funeral pyre, like a good wife. You brought this disgrace upon yourself by refusing to show your love. Our parents had no choice._" The practice of _sati_, where a widow would throw herself on the pyre of her deceased husband, was rather common around families where they were trying to raise their caste. It was a voluntary death, but most widows had nothing to look forward to other than pain and suffering when their spouse passed on. For Kajal to choose not to burn herself alive was rather brave and foolish. It was no wonder she'd been so easily sold into prostitution by her family.

Kajal looked down at the ground, tears welling up in her eyes. Soon her kohl was running again. "_I did not want to die. I was a child_," she sobbed, rather surprised when Jack suddenly put his arm around her shoulders. The man was staring at Jaabir with a look of indignation in his eyes. It was very obvious that Jaabir was hurting Kajal emotionally.

Jaabir shook his head and turned to look at Jack. "Will please sahib _chale jao_?" he asked in very broken English. He waved his hand towards them to make his meaning perfectly clear.

Kajal glared at Jaabir through her tears, wondering what had happened to the playful younger brother dreaming up schemes to get out of poverty. Her parents had to have poisoned his mind. "_I love him. It is not what you think._"

Both Jack and Jaabir looked at Kajal, stunned. Jack had been content to keep his opinion out of the matter, sensing that anything he could say would just be used by Jaabir in a negative way, but how easily she'd said those three words really scared him. "_What? You love me?_" One of his eyebrows was arched. He'd not realized that he could illicit such strong emotions in a woman as sensible as Kajal.

Kajal turned her head sharply, as did Jaabir, when he spoke in their tongue. "Yes," she replied softly, too stunned to say anything further. The man had only been in India for three months and whenever he was with Kajal, he always spoke English. How much did he understand?

"_Chup raho_!" Jaabir yelled, stepping backwards and running into the door to his home. How could his sister disgrace him even further by falling in love with a foreigner? "_Chale jao, dalits_!" The man was clearly no longer in the mood for speaking with either of his unwelcome guests. Jack and Kajal didn't move, as they were in the process of staring at one another in disbelief; Jack because he couldn't believe Kajal could feel that way about him and Kajal because Jack hadn't said anything similar back. She'd just borne her soul to him, and he was treating it almost like an insult. They were both brought back to reality as Jaabir swore and grabbed a pole near the door of his house. Afraid of being further assaulted and possibly battered, the pair ran away from the small house back to the road. It was doubtful Kajal would ever get another inclination to visit her brother again.

To say the air was electric around them as they reached safety was a bit of an understatement. Jack could feel her eyes trying to melt holes through his, as though looking for _any_ indication that he loved her back. The truth of the matter was that he didn't. He liked her, of course, and wished her nothing but the best, but she was a strumpet and he was not in the mood to be bogged down with a wife for no reason. He had a wealth of information available at his disposal, being in the Company, and would likely get reassigned in an hour or so when he met with Beckett. He was only seventeen and hadn't really lived long enough to know what love truly was. "What?" he finally asked when he couldn't handle the deafening silence any longer.

Kajal looked rather hurt for a moment. "You know, Jack Sparrow, the way you picked up my language would tend to indicate you're not stupid. Why are you acting that way?"

Jack grinned very slightly, wishing he could've been anywhere but here right now. "Kajal…you _can't_ love me. Isn't it against some sort of rule of the _Lajja_ or somethin'?"

"I am free to choose for myself what I can and cannot feel," she replied coolly.

"Well…yes, you are." Jack sighed and started walking. "But…me? Why me?"

"Why not?"

"Because...I'm Jack Sparrow, love. Can't stay tied down to land for long. In fact, if it weren't for the meetin' I've got, I'd probably run back t' the sea in the next few days." He'd gotten too used to the feel of open ocean beneath his feet. From time to time, he'd even walk as though he still had sea legs.

Kajal looked down at the ground. "I could've sworn that…" She sighed. "I am so imbecilic." When Jack didn't bother to say something to the contrary, she looked up at him. For some reason, the look on his face perturbed her. She'd spent the past three months getting minimal pay for a lot of effort. Apparently their relationship had merely been a shallow guise for Jack to continue visiting her for free. Inflamed, she struck him with her palm with as much strength as she could muster on his right cheek.

Jack's face turned as her kinetic energy transferred to his cheek. He stumbled backwards and nearly fell down as a large white hand appeared. It hurt more than he'd expected. "What was that for?" he asked after the explosion of pain from his cheek calmed a bit. He turned to look at her and was quite surprised to find she was nowhere in sight. "Tha's curious," he remarked to himself, rubbing at his cheek and pulling rather amusing faces as a few men walked past with a heavily laden donkey in tow. They turned and laughed amongst themselves once they were safely out of his line of sight. He'd never felt so embarrassed and confused in his life.

Pushing that aside, he glared at the men and mumbled something that wasn't particularly nice to them in their own language. Not many Europeans bothered to pick up the dialects, even if they were in the exotic country for years on end. They stared at him, aghast that he knew what they'd said, and hurried off. Jack grinned at his very minor victory and then glanced around the road for some sign of Kajal. He found none, so he decided he might as well head to the address Grealey had given him for an audience with Cutler Beckett, a man rising in the ranks of the Company.

"_Why, exactly, do you think that you were slapped like that?" Pearl asked curiously as the scene started to shift through Jack walking towards his next destination._

_Jack frowned slightly. "Because she realized I'm really a complete prat?"_

"_That, and…" Pearl looked at Jack and smiled encouragingly, almost sounding as though she were cooing to a two year old._

"_And because I was proud?" Jack guessed. At Pearl's triumphant nod, he frowned. "Hey…tha' wasn't a fall. I caught myself. It was the first slap of many…no' my fault women don' realize that I'm not perfect."_

"_Doesn't give you an excuse to rip a woman's heart to shreds," Pearl responded airily. "Especially not so soon after her own brother did." The scales appeared again, causing Jack to wince. "I'm afraid this is another black mark. You knew full well she was developing feelings for you-"_

"_Which is why I don' stay around long enough for them t' properly do tha' anymore," Jack interjected. "Save 'em some heartache…"_

_Pearl rolled her eyes. "You are still quite a proud man, Jack Sparrow."_

"_I know," he replied with a grin. "A man doesn' change his skin the moment he dies, luv. I can't change who I was or am. Only what I will be."_

"_That's surprisingly deep," Pearl said with a laugh. "Maybe you are worth saving after all…" She grinned and gently touched his hand before putting a finger to her lips so as to get on with the show. It was starting to get quite interesting._

It didn't take long for the man to find the proper house full of a battalion of white-clothed servants that saw to the comforts of any Company official who decided to drop by. He'd been greeted by the _khansamah_ of the house, the man in charge of making sure that all the servants acted in a manner pleasing to those in charge of the household at the time. As there were many important individuals in the Company traveling all over, the servants in Company houses were used to seeing many different Europeans come and go. Some had rules that no one liked, others let them go about their daily business. It was just the way that things went. After the quick greeting, he was taken to a small room with a matching armchair and loveseat with rather sickly floral print.

It was dark inside the entire stately manor, which was actually a nice contrast to the heat outside even if it made it difficult to see the lavish decorations on every available empty and flat space. Jack really thought that whoever had decorated the place had gone overboard, especially when he noticed the large green curtains near one of the windows that looked as though it had been there since the beginning of time and wasn't near what it had been while new. They were so dusty they seemed to be a sickly brown color.

Jack sighed slightly as he waited, drumming his finger against a rose colored petal on the floral design of the armchair. At last, a figure approached. The noise of his footsteps echoed in the hallway as he came into the room and smiled ever so slightly at seeing Jack sitting there. It was clear it wasn't a sincere smile, for the man's dark eyebrows didn't move in the slightest, but he extended his hand. "Welcome, Jack Sparrow," he said with a remarkably well-disguised and warm voice.

Jack stood, rather surprised to see how short the rather unassuming man truly was. He walked as though he were several inches taller, yet Jack found himself staring down at him. Jack had a little over five inches more elevation than his new host. He tried not to laugh as he took the man's hand and shook it. "Let me guess…yer Cutler Beckett?"

"_I hate tha' man!" Jack said angrily, his hand going immediately to his right arm over the pirate brand Beckett had lovingly bestowed upon him._

"_Such venom!" Pearl remarked with a slight smile. "Are you going to do this every time we see him?"_

"_No." Jack frowned and sighed. "Unfortunately, we're goin' t' be seeing a lot of him in the next little bit. I seriously 'ope we can get the heart back because if we can't…" He shook his head, staring at the small man with worry in his dark eyes. "He's a madman."_

"_I know," Pearl said gently. "That's why, as soon as we're done, you'll be going back to face him. Hopefully." She crossed her fingers._

"_Can I 'ave a kiss for good luck?" he asked, rather amused by her behavior._

"_Of course!" Pearl laughed and kissed him teasingly on the cheek. "Now, then, let's get this memory over with."_

"I am," Beckett replied coolly, letting go of Jack's hand after shaking it once. He apparently didn't like the fact that he was as short as he was, or the fact that Jack was being so informal about being in his presence. The short man was dressed in the finest clothes he had available and it appeared that his guest didn't even bother to sleep before coming to meet with him. "What is that around your eyes?" he asked impulsively as he sat down on the loveseat.

"Kohl," Jack replied easily. "Cuts down on the glare o' the sun, sir." He smiled slightly and took his seat again.

"Ah," Beckett replied, showing absolutely no emotion whatsoever as he coldly looked Jack over. "You come highly recommended, Jack Sparrow. And since you do, I am willing to overlook the fact that you aren't as experienced as I generally like my navigators to be."

Jack looked at Beckett rather blankly, struggling to follow the man's words and not openly stare at the eyebrows that just would not move nor the blemish above them. If he were to harbor a guess, he'd say that Beckett wasn't as old as the airs he was putting on for dealing with Jack. In fact, they were probably quite close to the same age. Beckett was rising in the Company mostly because of his father's money, more than likely. "It's an honor t' hear you say that," he said almost flatly, when he realized it was his turn to speak.

Beckett smiled slightly and nodded. "It's the truth, if my sources can be believed. Your previous captain had nothing but the highest praise for you, as did the navigator from the _Indomitable_." The smile quickly faded. "I have need of a navigator that can get me to London as expeditiously as possible."

"And why is tha', sir?" Jack asked, quirking one of his eyebrows in an attempt to subconsciously signal to Beckett that he should move his as well.

Beckett seemed not to get the hint. His eyebrows were as frozen as ever. "My father is in ailing health and my mother would like him to see England again before he passes on. In addition, I shall shortly marry Miss Gertrude Pansy Dexter. India is no place to start a traditional English family." One would think that a man of his age would be somewhat excited about the prospect of marrying a woman important enough to have three names, but Beckett seemed rather depressed, if anything.

"_He looks so…" Pearl attempted to find a word suitable, but came up with nothing._

"_Tha's mostly because of his soon-t'-be blushing bride," Jack quipped with a chuckle. "I think this is the most emotion I've ever seen on 'is face…save for when he's on a power-hungry rampage."_

"_What's wrong with Gertrude?"_

"_You'll see, soon enough." Jack grinned and then put a straight face on. "I really din' have any choice but to accept his generous offer. See, luv, I wasn't ready t' be a captain yet an' I sort of realized tha' at this time. I wasn't even really ready t' be a pirate. Had a hard enough time when tha' man died…" He frowned. "Ah well. My life took a very interestin' turn after this."_

"_I'm sure it did," Pearl agreed. "I read your file, remember?"_

"_Ah…right." Jack chuckled softly. "I forgot." It was surreal, being in this position, but who was he to complain? He could now see all the stupid mistakes he'd made in his life, as well as relive some of his greatest triumphs._

"I see," Jack replied, having the sudden desire to get out of this room nearly overwhelming him. "I accept your offer t' be navigator for your ship. Jus' tell me the time and place an' I'll make sure I'm there."

Beckett smiled again and stood. "I'm glad we've come to this understanding," he remarked, shaking Jack's hand as he stood as well. "I plan to leave in a week, unless the dockworkers can move faster. If we're truly scheduled to leave before then, I shall send word." He paused for a moment, a dark look in his eyes. "I do warn you, Sparrow, do not cross me. I expect you to only attend to your duties as navigator."

"Aye aye sir." Jack bowed towards Beckett and then bid a hasty retreat. So, he was to be leaving India to visit England, huh? It would certainly be an interesting journey, even if Beckett would likely prove as fascinating as a jar of almonds.


	10. Chapter Nine: The Introductions

Disclaimer: I don't have permission to be aboard, mate. I mean…writing this. Yeah…

_Author's Note (8/29/06)_: Quick update, eh? Probably won't be the case in the future. I'm starting school up in a week. Can't wait, really. I might be able to update on Monday, but we'll see how that goes. I'm moving back to my beloved dorm on Saturday. Can't wait. Fortunately, two of my muses are going to be my roommates, so I should continue to update. I have to. Haven't gotten to the really cool parts yet…  
Anyway, you know the drill. Sorry 'bout the length. Leave a review, stroke my ego, etc.

**Chapter Nine: The Introductions**

A small pair of dark hands carefully pressed a note into Jack's hands as he wandered around the streets of Sutra. Jack paused and looked towards the nearly-naked boy and smiled. "_Dhanya-waadh_," he said gratefully as he pressed a small coin into the waiting palm of the delivery boy. The boy's face seemed to light up as he smiled and closed his small hand over the coin. He bowed to Jack and then disappeared amongst the numerous other loincloth-laden lads trying to reach adulthood. Jack chuckled to himself and swatted a few hands away from his effects as a swarm of children tried to steal from him for being so generous to one of their own. The man was getting quite good at stopping pickpockets from taking advantage of his rapidly diminishing stores of wealth. Kajal had not been cheap, especially since he'd paid his debt in full after she'd disappeared. He figured she deserved something for the emotional anguish he'd put her through.

Jack slowly unfolded the note and read it, smirking at the contents. It was finally time for him to leave this place and visit another foreign area of the world. India was nice, to be certain, and had many wonders he'd only heard about, but he wanted to be back aboard a ship desperately. He'd decided that three months on shore-leave was far too long and never again intended to live on solid ground for more than a month, if at all possible. The siren song of the sea just seemed to call his name and he was helpless to ignore her.

He carefully folded the note back up and placed it underneath his belt before changing direction by pivoting around on his right foot. He was to report to the _Wicked Wench_, a galleon that shipped merchandise for the Company, immediately to meet with a certain Captain Edmund Odell. By the brevity and thick penmanship on the note, he got the impression that immediately wasn't a figure of speech. It was certain that Beckett was eager to leave. Jack didn't particularly want to be flagged as a rule breaker before leaving port, so he walked as quickly as he could through the crowds.

Near the docks, Jack could see enormous cargo ships known as East Indiamen being loaded up with all sorts of cargoes stamped with the seal of the East India Trading Company by numerous sweaty natives working under the watchful eye of several men holding guns and swords. The behemoths were used to transport goods as well as people from England to India and vice versa. They carried quite a lot of cannons as well, to protect against piracy. He stared at one of them for a moment before spotting the _Wicked Wench_. Even to his rather inexperienced eye, she was a fine ship indeed. She was a galleon with three masts with her hull painted black to aide in her waterproofing and to make her unique. The figurehead, at the prow, was of a beautiful maiden with wings holding out one of her hands. On that hand was a bird about to take flight. It was beautifully crafted and Jack got the impression that she was just about to move.

Jack stared at the figurehead, entranced, until he noticed someone moving near the railing. He blinked, wondering why he felt as though he'd seen the magnificent vessel before, and asked, "Permission to board, sir?"

"Name?" came the reply from the distant figure near the gangplank.

"Jack Sparrow." He grinned slightly. "This is a fine ship, if you don' mind me sayin' so."

"Aye, she is," the man agreed with a slight grunt as he looked from side to side. "Permission granted." Jack grinned and walked up the gangplank, coming to a stop near the man who'd spoken to him. He was taller than Jack with light brown hair and wise blue eyes. It was very clear he was a man of the sea; his face was wrinkled from years in the sun and the spray of the water and he seemed perfectly content aboard the gently rocking vessel. "Welcome aboard the _Wicked Wench_, Mister Sparrow," he greeted, with a slight smile as he held his hand out. "I'm Captain Odell." Surprisingly, he didn't wear a hat. However, it was very clear by his fine leather sea boots and fashionably durable brown overcoat.

"_He looks like a nice man." Pearl was staring at Odell intently, something in her nearly black eyes akin to recognition mixed with confusion._

"_He was a nice man," Jack revealed, looking at her curiously for a moment. "Bu'…surely…oh, well, never mind." He smiled innocently as she turned to look at him curiously. "I really liked his boots."_

_Pearl raised one of her eyebrows as she glanced at Jack's and then at the captain's boots. They were identical. "Apparently so," she remarked, shaking her head and laughing softly. "Did you steal them?"_

"_Now, luv, I can't tell you that, can I? It spoils the surprise." Jack grinned mischievously, though there was a hint of sadness in his kohl-lined eyes. "Now…hush, luv. I can remember this day as though it were yesterday…meetin' one of the loves of me life." He put his arm around her waist in a tender gesture, pulling her a bit closer. She seemed to forget that she'd been upset with him the moment he actually touched her. They lapsed into a very comfortable silence._

Jack took it and shook it. "Pleasure t' meet you, Captain."

Odell nodded. "I understand you're to be my navigator."

"Aye." Jack grinned and glanced at his hands. "I realize I'm no' the most experienced navigator in the world, bu' I studied under a master an' he taught me quite well."

The captain merely shrugged, stepping away from the railing and motioning towards the deck of the _Wench_. "I do not doubt your ability, Mister Sparrow. Come along. I believe it best for my entire crew to know the _Wicked_ _Wench_, so named for the figurehead, before setting sail."

Jack nodded appreciatively, already finding he liked the captain. It was clear that the _Wicked Wench_ meant a lot to him and it was very unlikely he'd let someone like Cutler Beckett control him. "Aye aye, Captain."

Odell smiled slightly and led Jack down the stairs to the orlop deck, the lowest deck aboard the _Wench_. Most of the extra cables were stored in the small compartment. Jack found he had to duck slightly as he reached the place. It was quite dark, as hardly any light filtered through the numerous hatchways covered with gratings, but he could still see the faint outline of cables, ropes, rigging, and a few other unidentifiable objects. Odell stopped near a bundle of cables and looked at Jack, who stopped as well.

He inhaled and coughed as the stench of the bilge water hit him. As the orlop deck was the lowest part of the ship, all of the water from the upper decks fell down onto it and collected above the keel, which was the backbone for the entire structure. Though the bilge water had been pumped out already while the _Wench_ was being careened to remove barnacles from her hull, the stench was still very much there. Often, sailors used the orlop deck as a lavatory during storms when it was impossible to use the head of the ship (located on the forecastle behind the figurehead) to take care of their business. The reek of urine mixed with salt water seemed to punch Jack in the nose.

Odell laughed softly at Jack's reaction. "I highly doubt the smell will ever leave," he lamented. "I've owned the _Wench_ for nearly a decade, now. She'll never smell the way she did when she was first built."

Jack nodded, breathing in as slowly as he could to become accustomed to the smell. Every ship was plagued by the same problem. It was just impossible to get rid of all the dirty water that made its way down to the bilges without collecting it first. "Things never stay the way they were when firs' built."

The captain nodded. "Well, I'm fairly certain you won't be down here very often. No sense in subjecting your olfactory sense to this place any longer. Come along." He turned and went up the staircase, stopping in the cargo hold. There were large crates marked with the distinctive trademark of the East India Company: the initials E I and Co separated by three crosses. The mark was used as a guarantee of quality and to discourage thieves and was put on every box, bundle, and barrel the Company owned.

"_I find it remarkable tha' they find branding human beings as easy an' commonplace as marking their cargoes as theirs," Jack broke in bitterly, startling Pearl. "What is it wiv their fascination with marking things?"_

"_Perhaps they consider it some sort of indication of power," Pearl mused, putting her head on his shoulder. "The more they have marked off as theirs, the less there is that is someone else's." She smiled slightly. "Don't worry, Jack. As with all great empires built on the backs of those not wanting to build them, I'm sure the Company won't last. People enjoy freedom too much."_

"_That they do," Jack agreed, comfortably surprised with how natural it felt to hold Pearl in his arms. Then again, she was a manifestation of perfection to him. "Sorry," he apologized. "Didn' mean to react like that."_

"_It's alright," she said softly. "You have every reason to hate the Company."_

"_That I do," Jack agreed. He gently squeezed her and then they both silenced themselves._

It was brighter in the hold and Jack carefully examined a few boxes before looking to Odell. There was a large crate filled with something that smelled a lot like sandalwood that seemed too large to be lifted by any number of men. A bit curious (not to mention nervous), he asked, "So they use derricks t' lower the heaviest cargoes into the hold?" even though he knew the answer already.

"Yes," the captain replied, slightly amused at the question. "They lower it in through the hatchway. Remarkably brilliant invention, the derrick. It'd take ages for men to carry all of this to the hold." He looked at the crates for a moment, a look of slight unease flitting across his features for just a moment before he coughed. "Come along," he said abruptly as Jack started towards the starboard side corner of the hold. "There is much to see and little time before Lord Beckett arrives."

Jack nodded and eagerly followed him to the brigs, where misbehaving sailors were kept (if their crime was serious enough) to await a flogging or keelhauling or a trial in a port. Towards the bow of the ship on that level was a compartment filled with barrels of hard tack, salted meat, apples, and grog. Since they were undertaking such a long voyage, water could not be taken. It developed mold inside the barrels far too quickly. To combat the problem, rum was added to make a weak alcoholic drink. It stored for much longer and was enjoyed far more than normal water.

"This is where we store all of our food," Odell announced a bit unnecessarily. "As you are an officer, you will be expected to hand out daily rations on occasion, to ensure that the crew don't get more than their allotment of grog or victuals. Lord Beckett's son has planned out every meal, it seems." There was a note to the captain's voice that indicated he wasn't entirely pleased with Cutler Beckett, but he hardly knew Jack and wasn't sure if he had some sort of mole on his hands. "The wine rack is also down here. I am the only one with keys, however, so don't start thinking you can get yourself three sheets to the wind without my permission."

"I wouldn' dream of trying," Jack lied easily, spying the locker on the starboard side. He would certainly have to get to work on his lock-picking skills…unless, of course, this Captain Odell was freer with wine than he seemed he would be. At least the man wasn't a teetotaler. He'd heard horror stories of captains that only allowed water aboard their ships, even if it did mean stopping for fresh supplies constantly.

"Good." Odell smiled and then went up the stairs to the gun deck, where the crew slept. With the gunports closed, there was very little ventilation and Jack could taste metal in the air. There were planks of wood hanging between the cannons that were used as tables by the crew. They could easily be stowed away during a battle, if necessary, as could the numerous hammocks hanging from the ceiling. A galleon such as the _Wench_ would be a rather tempting target for pirates, so the ship was equipped with thirty cannons. The gun deck was directly below the main deck, so it was quite a bit brighter than those below.

"The officer's quarters are back here," the captain announced as he started back towards them, easily avoiding a few barrels that held water to clean the cannons after firing a shot. He reached a small hallway. There were doors to the left and to the right. He motioned towards the left. "This is where Lord and Lady Beckett will be staying with their son. His fiancée will be staying in the room at the end of the hall." He motioned towards that door and then to the right. "This is where the officers will be staying…unfortunately, you'll all be crammed into one cabin, because of our guests…" He sighed softly and then knocked on the door before going inside without waiting for a response.

Inside stood three men who didn't seem all that surprised to see Odell enter unannounced. The one closest to the door, dressed in fine dark clothing that would be suitable to attend a funeral in and not very sensible to wear outside in the sun with greenish brown eyes and dark brown hair that was nearly black. He seemed to have seen very little sun indeed over the course of his life, as he was quite pasty. Next to him stood a man with long light brown hair and teal eyes, dressed in a respectable dark blue overcoat. He wore a black leather tricorn hat that looked as though it had just been made that really caught Jack's gaze for a moment. The man was smiling at Jack and certainly seemed quite friendly. Next to him stood a shorter man with a long, grizzled beard, slightly hunched forward. His hair was a dark blond with a touch of red to it, and his eyes were of the type that seemed to change color depending on the weather. He was clearly older than everyone in the room, except perhaps Captain Odell. The two further from the door had clearly seen their share of sunlight, as their faces were tanned like leather.

"_What a curious assortment!" Pearl suddenly exclaimed, looking at all three men intently. "I've often wondered during our review of your life what it's like to suddenly be living with complete strangers for long blocks of time…did it ever get bothersome?"_

"_Why d' you think I became a captain?" Jack asked, with a serious tone to his voice and a teasing glint in his eyes._

"_You didn't like it and decided to get a cabin all to yourself?" Pearl guessed._

_Jack chuckled and shrugged. "No…I jus' like being in charge. An' the hat. Of course, a captain doesn' do all that much from day to day on a pirate ship…quartermaster is more in charge of that."_

"_Ah." Pearl frowned and looked up at Jack. "You haven't answered my question."_

"_Sorry, luv." Jack thought for a brief second. "Well, I din' mind it…but a lot of men did. It's hard t' live so close to strangers, especially if you're the sort tha' easily makes enemies or doesn' say a word to another… But, generally, on a ship…the crew becomes yer family. Sure, there's squabbles, but it's not all that bothersome."_

_Pearl's frown melted. "Ah."_

"_Is that all you 'ave to say?"_

"_Yes." Pearl laughed at the confused look on his face. "I was merely curious."_

_He shook his head, clearly not understanding why she pressed the matter, but decided that it was probably because she was a ship and didn't know how men and women interacted very well. "Right."_

Odell nodded to each of the men and then looked at Jack. "This is Jack Sparrow. He's to be our new navigator."

"Pleasure to meet you," the well-dressed one said, taking Jack's hand and shaking it. "I'm Killian Marley, the _Wench_'s surgeon." His profession explained why he looked so pale. He probably didn't get out very much. A surgeon on a ship was invaluable.

"And I'm Keaton Hardy, the first mate and quartermaster," the one with the hat said, shaking Jack's hand as soon as Killian let go.

"An' I'm Tannar Orman," the older man said, not bothering to shake Jack's hand. "I be the carpenter an' cooper."

"Unfortunately, on the way here from England, we ran into a few pirates," Odell explained rather speedily at the puzzled look on Jack's face. It was unusual for a first mate to serve as a quartermaster as well, except on a pirate ship. "That's why we require a new navigator."

"Ah." It made sense to Jack, so he smiled and nodded to all of the officers. "It's a pleasure t' meet you," he said graciously, following etiquette carefully. It would not be good for him to get on their bad sides on the first day.

The others affirmed much the same thing before Odell pointed towards the top bunk. "You'll be sleeping there, Mister Sparrow. Keaton will fill you in with all the expectations of your post." He pulled out a watch from his pockets. "Unfortunately…there isn't any more time to show you around the ship. Lord Beckett is due to arrive in a few moments and I must ensure that everything is up to snuff." He bowed slightly. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen…" He grinned and then disappeared from the cabin.

"Tha' man really needs t' learn how to delegate," Tannar remarked mostly to himself, shaking his head and taking a seat on the bunk opposite where Jack would be sleeping.

"You know, that's almost mutinous," Keaton reprimanded gently, sitting down on the bunk beneath Jack's. "You ought not to speak about the captain that way. He's a fine man, does his job well."

Killian chuckled softly to himself, grabbing a chair and sitting on it. He removed his heavy overcoat and rolled his sleeves up. In sharp contrast to his dark trousers and vest was a blood red sash he wore around his waist. It was probably from India and, for some reason, seemed to suit the surgeon. "You always think everything Tannar says is mutinous," he remarked, before looking up at Jack. "Care to join us for a game of brag?"

"I'll 'ave you know, I'm terrible wiv cards," Jack said as he took the other chair and placed it across from Killian. He liked his three fellow officers already. They seemed quite comfortable with one another and more than willing to invite others into their circle.

"All the more reason fer ye to play," Tannar commented, grabbing a pack of cards from underneath a red and white sash he wore around his waist to keep his trousers from falling. The man had lost some weight during his last voyage and needed the sash to stay decent.

The others laughed approvingly and anted up before Tannar dealt everyone three cards. Jack slowly looked at his cards, keeping his face entirely emotionless when he realized that he had pair of aces. It certainly wasn't the best hand (a prial consisting of three threes), but it was good enough to keep him from folding right off the bat. As he was to the left of Tannar, he started the bid reasonably enough.

"Now, then, Mister Sparrow, are you the sort of individual that enjoys lying?" Killian mused aloud as Keaton folded and he matched Jack's bet, raising it.

"Perhaps," Jack replied, keeping any emotion from his voice as he watched Killian glance down at his cards as Tannar matched the bet. Killian seemed as trained in the art of deception as the finest card shark. Tannar, on the other hand, seemed to be very cocky about his hand. "If I were, I wouldn' admit to the fact, now would I?" He put quite a sizeable sum into the pot as he matched the previous bet.

"Gentlemen…let's not lose our heads," Keaton said a bit nervously, glancing towards Killian. The man was famous for bluffing and quite good at getting a lot of people in debt. It was how he could even dream of purchasing his fancy clothes. "No sense to be gambling away so much money before we're even under way."

Killian smiled slightly and matched Jack's bet. "I would just like to see what manner of man our new navigator is. It's a bit of harmless wagering, really."

Tannar stared at how much money he would have to wager for a long while and looked back to his hand, disgusted. "I fold," he lamented.

"I see," Jack said, putting twice Killian's bet into the pot. Killian slowly lowered his hand to reveal a running flush with a three, a two, and an ace. He grinned at the slight frown and crease of Jack's brow as the lad showed off his pair of aces.

"I win," Killian announced triumphantly. "Care to go for another round, Sparrow?" he asked casually as he stood and knelt next to the pot, picking up all his winnings and pocketing them.

"Under normal circumstances…" Jack sighed slightly and stood. "Unfortunately, me cash reserves are a bit wanting, lately, so I'm afraid I'll 'ave to say no." He was bored of being in the small cabin and wanted to do a bit more exploring above deck, as well as discover the galley. The man was feeling quite peckish. "Would any o' ye like something from the galley?"

They all shook their heads as Tannar picked up the cards and dealt again without shuffling. That was probably the most curious thing about brag. If a man was good at counting cards, he could easily determine what his companions had in their hands. It wouldn't be too bad living with those three, though Jack suspected he'd have to sharpen his skills and observe how Killian typically bluffed before trying to play brag with him again. He wasn't in the mood to lose what he had left quite yet.

Jack put the chair back to its proper place, amazed by how much he already felt at home aboard the _Wicked Wench_ and then went above deck. To his astonishment, he wasn't the only one there. Captain Odell was standing near the main mast, a look of mostly repressed discontentment on his face. Cutler Beckett was across from him, looking as though he were trying to swat a particularly annoying fly. He was dressed in even finer livery than he'd been wearing when he first met with Jack, no doubt trying to impress everyone he came in contact with.

There was an old and hunched over man holding a cane to Beckett's left. The finery of his clothing indicated that he had to be Lord Fabian Beckett. He had a rather vacant look to his eyes as he stared at Captain Odell, content to let his son do the speaking for him. The poor man no longer knew what to do with his time now that he was reaching the point of being a burden on everyone around him. He was nearly fifteen years older than his wife and still found he couldn't keep up with the demands she placed on him, though they'd been married for quite some time indeed. He'd spent so much of his life in pursuit of more riches that he hadn't had time to get to know anyone other than himself.

To Lord Beckett's right stood a fairly tall woman who could only be Lady Sebille Beckett, based on the way she was starting to sag thanks to Father Time and gravity. She had dark hair with very prominent strands of grey showing, much like a flower, the most direct path to the bun atop her head. She seemed the sort of woman that enjoyed hearing a juicy bit of gossip more than anything else in the world, with the way that she craned her neck to look at Jack and size him up. Her clothes were made of the finest silks and she shimmered in the sunlight because of numerous jewels she'd had sewn onto her dress. Around her neck was a garish necklace with more diamonds than the average worker saw in their lifetime. It was likely an heirloom passed through the generations that she would give to Beckett's betrothed as a wedding gift. Sebille was quite proud of her son, as well as grateful that she would be able to leave India for somewhere more civilized.

Near Lady Beckett stood another woman, younger though dressed nearly as garishly. She had a rather bemused smile on her face, as though she couldn't believe her good luck at actually getting away from India. Miss Gertrude Pansy Dexter was the daughter of the man in charge of most of the Company. Tragically, she'd been born without most of the gifts her elder sister had. Not only was she rather plump and plain, but she didn't have much intelligence or wit to make up for it. She had a large mole on her left cheek that she couldn't hide, no matter what she tried. Gertrude had long ago resigned herself to the fact that she would die an old maid until she'd met Cutler Beckett by chance after he had a meeting with her father. He'd treated her with kindness and she'd fallen for him, even allowing him to call her something as terribly familiar as Gerty. Her most attractive feature, other than the fact that she was quite buxomly, was probably her pale green eyes, though they did get a bit lost underneath her black eyebrow. Her raven hair had never had the great sheen to it that made the women in the _Lajja_ so attractive. It was constantly matted and needed a good cleaning more often than was the custom for other European women. She used to wish that she were Indian, like her ayah, but decided some time ago that she'd prefer being her race rather than have perfect dark skin.

She was a simple woman that did as she was told and believed what others told her to believe. Of course, the moment she noticed Jack come up, the somewhat embarrassed look to her eyes disappeared and was replaced by a rather dreamy one. Jack was quite handsome and he smiled directly at her, after all. How could any woman help but smile back?

"_Now do you understand the look on Beckett's face?"_

"_I do," Pearl responded, shuddering slightly. "I mean…I'm sure that she's a nice enough woman and all…but did he really marry her?"_

"_Yes. Beckett was after her father's prestige an' wealth. He certainly got it, too. I'm under the impression 'e was trying to add "West Indies" t' the Company's title by the end. Poor Dexter ne'er had a son, so Gertrude's dowry was sizable indeed."_

"_People do the most extraordinary things for the love of money." Pearl frowned slightly. "Poor Gertrude probably had no idea she was being used, either."_

"_Probably no'." Jack gently kissed her cheek while wondering if she'd let him do such a thing. She didn't seem to mind at all. "At least she was able t' get married. No longer an outsider in Society's eyes. Unmarried women are governesses, old maids, or prostitutes." He kissed her again, nearer to her beautiful and full lips._

"_Sounds terrifying." Pearl shivered slightly and suddenly moved back, laughing. "Your mustache tickles," she explained, maintaining her distance from him in a conspicuous way. He'd moved too fast…_

"Captain, are you quite sure they're the largest rooms you have available?" Beckett asked, not bothering to see who'd come up above deck. "I was under the impression that-"

"I assure you, sir, that your family's every comfort has been seen to," Odell said smoothly. The captain really hated this part of his job. He'd be perfectly happy to just sail around the world without bothering to ferry Company officials. They were never satisfied with his ship. There was _always_ something wrong. It was difficult to stay relatively cheerful when the same sort of complaints came up. He didn't like dealing with strangers.

"I've no doubt of that, Captain Odell." Beckett looked quite upset indeed as he turned to look at his parents and his intended. "I was under the impression that our living space would be more than what you mentioned. My fiancée deserves the very best." At that, Gertrude turned and looked at Beckett. She blushed and resembled a ripening strawberry, what with the acne covering large parts of her face. Beckett smiled back, though it didn't seem to travel to his calculating eyes.

"Which she'll have," Jack broke in, with a slight grin as Odell turned to face him and mouthed a very clear 'thank you.' "Captain Odell, from what I've seen, runs a very tight ship an' the cabin he's outfitted for your charming fiancée is far better than one would expect on a galleon." He motioned towards where he'd just come above deck. "If you'd like, I could show you to your quarters. I'm certain that the Captain has important business to attend to in order for us to leave tomorrow morning."

"And who, precisely, are you?" Lady Beckett questioned, looking quite appalled at how easily the apparent peasant was addressing them. She was of the stock that believed the only ones worth talking to were those who had over five generations of nobility in their family tree. It was bad enough that she was expected to converse with the captain.

"He's the navigator, Mother." Beckett was staring at Jack, his small mouth gaping.

"The name is Jack Sparrow, Lady Beckett. Most recently from Sutra," Jack announced, with a very graceful and exaggerated bow in her direction.

"Sparrow, is it?" Lady Beckett repeated, a dark look to her face for a moment. She didn't know any Sparrows, did she? Obviously the man felt comfortable enough in the presence of aristocracy to be from their social circle…but, then again, she'd been away from London for so long anything was really possible.

Lord Beckett suddenly made a noise as Jack nodded. Everyone turned to look at him as he lifted his cane up. It shook something terribly as he started to speak. "Sparrow. There was a Geoffrey Sparrow in London. Moved to India years ago. Believe he was a baronet." That was enough of a title to satisfy Lady Beckett.

"Oh," Lady Beckett responded, glancing back at Jack. "I see. Well, then…please lead the way, Mister Sparrow."

"With pleasure, Lady Beckett." He glanced towards Gertrude and winked as Beckett looked the other way. One of the nice things about traveling under a pseudonym was that he didn't have to tell the truth. "If you'll follow me, I'll take you to your cabin."

"_It wasn' fun being their personal escort all the time," Jack remarked with a slight wince. "I shouldn' 'ave said anything. Should've let Odell deal wiv them. Of course, things would've turned out quite differently… I jus' thought it would be best for me to be noticed by aristocracy." He sighed softly, looking over at Pearl and gently taking her hand._

"_You did the right thing," she remarked. "Unfortunately…no points for this one." She smiled sympathetically. "It was a kind deed, but you were being so nice for selfish reasons. One's heart has to be in the right place."_

_Jack frowned slightly. "Ah well," he conceded. "The only reason I did it was so tha' I would be able to further my career, later. By this time...by this time I'd realized tha' I needed a ship in order to become the best pirate captain in the world. An', the only way readily available to me to get a ship was to have a wealthy sponsor. I already liked Odell enough t' not start a mutiny agains' him. One doesn' often become a captain as young as I did wivout making proper connections, eh?"_

_"Not really," Pearl agreed, suddenly looking a bit bored. "Shall we continue?"_


	11. Chapter Ten: The Rescue

Disclaimer: I don't have permission to be writing this. Nor will I ever have permission to be writing this. I wish I did…

_Author's Note (9/10/06)_: Sorry about the long delay in updates…the first week of school was hectic. Three English classes means a lot of homework, really… Fortunately for you, my muse kept shooting me dirty looks today and wouldn't let me take a nap, really, until I finished this chapter. Hope you enjoy it and leave a little message saying you've read it…

**Chapter Ten: The Rescue**

The seas from Sutra towards the Cape of Good Hope were far better than anyone had expected. Thanks to Jack's innate skill with the sextant and sea charts, they were making good time. That is, up until they hit stormy seas near the southernmost tip of Africa. Something almost on par with a typhoon had blown them towards the dangerous rocks on the shoreline, forcing the Beckett family and Gertrude to stay below deck as the seas nearly rocked them from their berths as the crew frantically tried to keep everyone alive. Jack, being one of the most nimble of the crew, had climbed up into the rigging in the stinging rain that made it nearly impossible to see to change the direction of the sails more times than he could count in order to keep them from being dashed to pieces. The rest of the crew had done the same, picking up slack wherever it was spotted. Somehow, they'd persevered and had survived to see that little patch of blue indicating that the storm would be over soon. Many a fine crew had been claimed by the treacherous waters and deceptive storms, but it seemed that everyone aboard the _Wicked Wench_ was doing fine. There were a few bruises and a broken finger or two, but nothing too serious. Captain Odell was eternally grateful for that. His crew was his family.

The morning after the storm finally became a memory, Jack Sparrow awoke with a start as Killian roughly grabbed his hands. His dream of a crew and ship stocked with bananas under his command disappeared the moment his dark kohl-lined eyelids freed themselves from the mucus used to keep them shut at night as he reflexively tried to pull his hands back. The man was absolutely exhausted. He'd done more work than many a man with years of experience in storms such as the one they'd weathered, finding it as easy to move aboard the _Wench_ as it was to breathe. Over the past few months, he'd started to wonder why the ship was called the _Wicked Wench_, for Odell didn't seem to be a womanizer, but he'd decided it wasn't a question worth asking.

"Hold still," Killian commanded in the voice he used whenever he had a patient in his care. It was both commanding and caring; everybody aboard the _Wench_ would listen to the man intently. There was something about the profession of surgeon that made a layman rather awestruck. Killian knew so much about his livelihood that it was hard to think he could ever be wrong.

"Why?" Jack asked with a slight scowl before yawning, though he did relent and stop moving his hands.

Killian looked at Jack curiously and then looked back down at the navigator's hands. "Why?" he repeated incredulously. "How in God's green earth did you fall asleep?"

Jack tilted his head and arched an eyebrow at the surgeon before he finally looked at the hands he'd so faithfully used the previous night. They were covered in dried blood. The ropes he'd been grabbing must have caused so much friction as they were pulled by the strong winds that they split his skin open. "Oh," he said very softly. "I was wondering why it hurt a bit." He smiled slightly, trying to disguise the fact that he really felt no pain throbbing from his hands at all. He had for about the first half hour, but then the burning had miraculously stopped and he hadn't paid any mind to it at all. He vaguely remembered getting rope burns during his brief session as the captain of the _Rêve_, but his hands had eventually become quite calloused. Spending a year as an apprentice navigator had softened them up, however.

"A bit?" Killian asked disbelievingly. "It only hurt a bit?" He shook his head, reaching for a small basin of water he'd placed on the floor sometime while Jack was sleeping. "You need to be more careful, Sparrow. If you were to get gangrene from something like this, I'd be forced to amputate." Amputation was the only sure way to keep gangrene from spreading. There were numerous sailors, farmers, and average people missing limbs due to gangrene or compound fractures.

Jack winced slightly. "I din' realize it looked so bad, honestly," he insisted as Killian dipped a rag in the water and then carefully started washing Jack's palms. His right palm was certainly in worse shape than his left, as he'd been using it more often to grab the lines to secure them.

Killian merely grunted and soon had the blood off Jack's hand, though he looked as though he'd received a second-degree burn. "I don't want you touching anything that has the slightest possibility of removing itself from your grip," he warned. "Your skin is rather fragile right now and needs to be kept clean. I'd hate to be forced to tell Captain Odell to stop so we can get some leeches."

"I'm not entirely fond o' leeches," Jack admitted. "I'll keep it clean." This would be a bit of a problem in the future, though. He didn't know how he would be able to help in a storm without the exact same thing happening. Jack wasn't of the sort that liked to go below decks just because his hands were raw and bleeding.

"You know, a lot of sailors wear rawhide on their palms," Killian commented as he carefully bandaged Jack's right hand. "Keeps them from getting rope burns. Something you might want to look into, if you plan to stay on the sea for the rest of your life." He grinned a bit teasingly. "It'll also cover up the scars you're going to have on your right hand, if you're really all that concerned about your aesthetic appearance."

"Oh, I am," Jack replied drolly, a serious look on his face. In reality, he thought scars were excellent. They showed character and that the person with them actually lived rather than sitting around all day touching nothing to mar their perfect complexion. "Thanks for the advice an' help, mate."

"It's my responsibility to watch out for the welfare of the crew," Killian said in a nearly humble voice, though he was clearly pleased by the gratitude. "It won't take very long for your hand to heal." He slowly stood up and put the basin of water away. "Unfortunately, I've other patients to attend to. It appears Lord Beckett's lumbago is acting up again." He pulled a slight face. "I shall be very glad when we're rid of them."

"I think everyone will, includin' the Becketts," Jack agreed firmly as he pictured the vertically-challenged Cutler Beckett walking about on deck as though he owned the ship. The man was obviously a power-hungry maniac determined to further his own position in the world. He was so caught up in the minutia of his daily schedule that anytime anything happened to disrupt him, he would go straight to Captain Odell or Jack to complain. They were the only two who could keep a mostly civil tongue while addressing his grievances. Jack almost felt sorry for Gertrude; it appeared the only reason Beckett had betrothed himself to her was to gain favor in the sight of her father. She'd developed a rather annoying habit of watching Jack go about his daily chores to keep herself occupied. Whenever he said anything to her, she would squeak, look down at the deck, and bid as hasty a farewell as possible.

Killian nodded to Jack. He often liked to complain of their passengers during the night. Even Keaton would join in on insulting the rather vociferous and unpleasant Lady Beckett, though he tried not to speak ill of anyone. As Jack was exposed to them more often, he had quite a lot of stories he told with ample embellishments that would keep them laughing until late at night. Tannar, in particular, enjoyed Jack's stories and would often pester him for something fresh. As a result, they all had a rather skewed look on the man's past, for Jack had never precisely told the truth to anyone since leaving home. The surgeon grabbed his bag full of medical supplies and then left, headed towards where Lord Beckett was resting in bed. The poor man seemed to be in failing health. His wife complained about it more than he did.

Once Killian was gone, Jack carefully got out of bed and splashed some water onto his face using his un-bandaged left hand. Then he stretched and yawned, trying to banish drowsiness, before stepping out of the officer's cabin and heading towards the galley. As soon as he was up on deck, he noticed Gertrude very near to the stairs he'd just come up, so he nodded a greeting towards her and continued on his way, not surprised when she followed him.

Upon reaching the galley, he nodded towards the cook, Geoff. Geoff skilled in the culinary arts and the crew devoured anything he managed to whip up, even if it happened to have a few coarse brown hairs from his arms in it. The man was covered in the stuff, so it did inevitably end up in every dish he prepared. Jack sometimes wondered if he had to comb his arms in the morning to keep them from shedding too much. He almost seemed to be some sort of animal. "An' what have we created this mornin'?"

"Flapjacks," Geoff answered simply, a slight smile on his face as he motioned towards the small pile of them sitting on a plate. "There'd be more if you'd woken up earlier."

"It's nice t' have a warm meal," Jack commented as he took a few. During the storm, the stoves had been doused so as to keep the ship from catching fire. "I don' mind the fact that there's only a few, really." Geoff's flapjacks kept a man full much longer than the average breakfast would. They were so heavy they seemed to sit in the pit of stomachs as the crew went about their business. "Thank you."

Geoff nodded slightly, turning to stir a large pot full of soup. He had to stay ahead of the meals and was already almost finished preparing the midday meal. "It's me job," he said simply.

Jack took his flapjacks outside the galley. He enjoyed eating on deck when the weather was amiable and the horizon clearly visible. There was something therapeutic about the scenery at sea. Oft times, he found he couldn't look away.

As he started to munch on his breakfast, Gertrude came up on his side and casually leaned against the railing. She seemed to have a determined look to her eyes as she smiled slightly and said, "Hello," with a trembling voice.

"Gertrude!" Jack said brightly, swallowing his latest bite and letting his hands fall to his side. "'Lo, luv."

She looked like a cornered cat as her eyes darted to the nearest possible escape, but she didn't move. There was a very awkward pause before she smiled slightly again. "How are y-you?"

Jack almost felt sorry for the woman. It was painfully obvious she was more attracted to him than to Beckett. "I'm doing jus' fine, luv. An' yourself?"

"G-good." She smiled weakly a third time, turning slightly to look towards the horizon. Then she looked back at Jack. "Quite a s-storm yesterday."

"That it was," Jack agreed. Too hungry to not eat the rest of his breakfast to care about social rules, he took another bite of Geoff's fantastic pancakes.

"What did you do t-to your hand?" Gertrude asked worriedly as she noticed the bandage on his hand. The concern in her voice was almost sickening to the young navigator. Why did he have to be trapped on a ship with a woman who clearly liked him that he didn't like at all? Perhaps he was being a bit picky, but he had no desire to spend time with her like he had Abigail and Kajal. Something about the way her face seemed ready to burst with pus most of the time repulsed him.

"Oh, nothin' really," Jack said with a shrug through a mouth full of food. "Just a few rope burns."

"I'm g-glad you weren't seriously injured." Gertrude seemed to be slightly more at ease around Jack, apparently encouraged by the way that he was reacting to her.

"So am I." Jack swallowed and grinned. "Wan' to see it?" he asked like any older brother would ask a younger sister that was being annoying.

"No thank you," Gertrude said briskly, suddenly looking quite ill as she pictured what it was that had warranted a bandage. The poor woman had been battling seasickness for the entire journey and Jack felt a small twinge of guilt for treating her in such a familiar manner. He was about to say something further when she leaned over the side of the railing and vomited the contents of her fairly large stomach to the waiting sharks trailing the ship. Once it was all out, she put her elbows on the railing and groaned softly. Gertrude's stomach wasn't entirely appreciative of the food it had been receiving on their voyage, and she found herself losing a few inches around her middle as a result. It made her perfectly tailored dresses look a bit odd on her, but she wasn't about to complain.

"You alright?" Jack asked concernedly as the ship went down as the ocean swelled. He instinctively tilted away from the railing, sensing that the next wave would be quite large indeed.

Gertrude nodded mutely, her dark hair hanging over the side of her plump face and hiding her rather hairy mole. She certainly didn't look alright, but perhaps her version of what that specific word meant was different from what Jack meant it to be. She opened her mouth, either preparing to spew or talk again as the wave hit the _Wench_. Taken completely by surprise with her center of gravity somewhere over the side of the ship, the buxomly woman tumbled overboard and hit the water with a rather large splash a moment later.

Jack was staring at where Gertrude had been as his mind tried to make sense of what had just happened. The _Wench_ was making terribly good time and unless he did something very fast, the lass would likely drown. "Man-woman-someone importan' o'erboard!" he shouted, unable to decide what he would classify Gertrude as because of faintly visible hair over her lip. The woman had more of a mustache than most young men could grow until their twenties. As soon as he heard someone repeat what he'd yelled, he looked over the railing and found he couldn't see Gertrude or her maroon dress. It appeared he would have to save her life.

He quickly got on top of the railing and dove into the water as the helmsman of the _Wench_, a tall and muscular man named Billy, turned her around. Jack hit the surprisingly cold water and nearly opened his mouth at the frigid temperature, but opened his eyes instead to try and catch glimpse of the maiden. Once he adjusted to the sting of the salt in both his eyes and his injured hand, he noticed a large shape floating down towards the ocean floor that was either a whale calf or Gertrude. As he didn't see any other large dark shapes in the water, he assumed it was, in fact, Gertrude, so he started swimming towards her.

In a few moments, he managed to grasp some of the fabric on her skirt and then grabbed her arm. Gertrude didn't seem to be moving at all, so the navigator knew how important it was to get her above the water. He started swimming up towards the surface but soon discovered something he'd never thought about. The weight of Gertrude, combined with the weight of her yards of soaking fabric, was pulling him down towards the ocean floor as well. She seemed to weigh twice what he imagined her to weigh.

His lungs seemed to be collapsing as he quickly started grabbing the fabric and ripping it from her skirts. After taking off three layers of variously colored garments, Jack started swimming up to the surface again. His lungs were burning and he was desperately trying to keep himself from inhaling the salty brine of the ocean. It seemed to take an eternity for him to break the surface of the water. Once he did, he pulled Gertrude up above the water as well, vaguely worried when she didn't gasp for breath as he did. Thankfully, the _Wench_ was well on her way to coming back.

He hit her back a few times, struggling to stay afloat as her great weight tried to pull him down. Finally she coughed, spewing a rather disgusting mixture of the sea and the remaining contents of her stomach partly onto Jack's face. Surprised, he nearly let her start drifting down to the abyss again before he realized she likely couldn't swim. "You hurt?" he asked, trying to ignore the fact that he was swimming with a chunk of flapjack on his cheek as he tried to keep both of them above the waves.

Gertrude slowly shook her head as she tried to kick her pudgy feet and assist Jack in keeping them afloat. Unfortunately, she merely succeeded in kicking him in a rather tender area, so they both ended up going under the water again. Jack ripped off yet another layer of Gertrude's clothes once he could think and they resurfaced. Gertrude was now wearing only her white linen shift. As it was quite wet, Jack had no trouble at all seeing all of her assets and actually had a hard time not staring at them as he continued to tread water.

"Sorry," Gertrude apologized, coughing up a little more water. "I didn't mean to kick you."

"No worries, luv," Jack replied with a slight smile, though his gaze clearly wasn't where it should have been. Underneath all the layers Gertrude had been wearing she really had a rather voluptuous body. The smile broadened as he managed to glance up into her eyes. "Are you hurt?"

"No…at least, I don't th-think so." It appeared she was realizing how improper the entire situation was. She wasn't so sure if she wanted Jack to be staring at her like he was. She almost wished she wore a thicker shift like the commoners did, but her father always bought her the finest linen shifts that barely added to the weight of her overall attire. People had been wearing shifts for centuries. They were made by hand in most households, one of the numerous chores the woman of the house had to take care of. It was to protect their clothing from sweat as well as to promote a sense of propriety. Generally, the shift was the only garment that people wore that was washed on a regular basis. Gertrude felt naked.

"Good." Jack turned for a moment to check and see where the _Wench_ was. "Ought t' be a bit more careful around the railing, luv. Number one cause o' death is falling overboard. They're only coming back because of you." He smiled slightly and looked back at her, amused as her eyes widened at the thought of that. He was starting to realize that he missed Martha terribly. "If it were me, they would've said, 'Ah well.' Mark me words."

Gertrude's eyes were full of disbelief. "They'd just let you die out here like that?" she asked, successfully distracted from her seasickness and discomfort.

"Aye." Jack sounded terribly serious. "They'd figure, probably rightly, tha' the sharks would get me. Or maybe the jellyfish. Or even a leviathan."

"Leviathan?"

"Mythological sea creature what can destroy a ship all by its onesies." Jack shuddered slightly. "I 'aven' heard many stories about them, bu' they're mentioned in the Bible. Mus' be real."

"They are?" There wasn't a single note of skepticism to her voice as she stared at him, her mouth gaping open like a dead fish.

"Aye. Job chapter three, I think." Jack wasn't entirely familiar with the scriptures, but he did remember reading about a leviathan in that particular part after Kaya pointed it out to him, saying that 'At leas' ya aren't like him is' whenever he decided to complain about something she was forcing him to do. After reading the entire book of Job, he'd decided life could never be too bad. Then again, that had been years ago when he'd believed everything he'd ever read. "They're apparently the size o' ten ships wiv suckers on their tentacles that rip a man's face clean off."

"_Is that true?" Pearl asked suddenly, staring at Jack a bit curiously. She obviously knew that he liked to stretch the truth, for she'd heard him do it numerous times aboard her, but the idea that the leviathan was actually mentioned in the Bible seemed a bit ludicrous._

"_Aye, it is," Jack replied, sounding slightly offended. "Ye could look it up, if you'd like. Shouldn' you know that book by heart, anyway? I mean…you're sort of passin' judgment on me, aren' ye?"_

_She nodded slightly. "In a way. This is by no means your final judgment, Jack Sparrow." She concentrated in thought for a moment before the Holy Bible appeared in her hands. She flipped to the correct page and read, "Lo let the night be solitary, let no joyful cry be heard in it. Let them curse it who curse the day who are ready to awake the Leviathan." She carefully closed the Bible and then looked at Jack. "That's interesting," she commented softly._

"_I know," Jack agreed. "Then again, I think leviathan jus' means twisted or coiled in Hebrew. Could be talkin' about practically anything, just like everythin' else in the Bible."_

"_That's where faith comes in," Pearl pointed out gently._

_Jack merely pulled a face. As he didn't like arguing about religion, he just let it drop. People were entitled to their own opinions._

She shivered and nearly went under again as a large swell moved them higher above the sea floor. "I hope nothing gets to us before the ship," she announced miserably.

"Same 'ere. The sharks 'round these parts aren't particularly friendly. They'll rip a man's 'ead off in one clean bite." Jack actually knew nothing about the sharks near Africa and found it quite difficult to contain his mirth as Gertrude's jaw dropped further and she nearly swallowed more sea water, looking around her anxiously for any signs of large fish with sharp teeth. "The jellyfish…well, one sting from them an' you'll never know what happened. Go stiff as a board, fall down t' meet Davy Jones."

"Davy Jones?" Gertrude's eyes were full of worry laced with curiosity. She was of the personality that just had to ask questions.

"Aye, Davy Jones. The devil o' the sea. Collects all sorts of dead men's souls before sending 'em t' his locker." Jack didn't believe any of the stories about Davy Jones, though he'd heard numerous ones from Tannar during the voyage. "Sails about underneath the water. I 'ear he makes berth at the Cape of Good Hope, where we're sailing to. He has a leviathan t' do his terrible bidding."

Jack snorted when he saw the look of worry on her face as she looked furtively around the open water after that particular pronouncement, disguising it with a cough when she turned to look at him. "Are you alright?"

"Aye," Jack replied, struggling not to laugh again. "It was jus' a bit of water, in me throat," he explained further. She glanced anxiously back towards the open water. "Don' worry, luv, I'll keep you safe from scary ole Davy Jones."

"_Do you often tell people lies?" Pearl asked, amused, as she walked around where Gertrude was bobbing in the water. She almost pitied the poor wench, but hearing Jack go on about all that so seriously to just scare Gertrude seemed hilarious._

"_Only sometimes. I find it fun t' get people to believe the unbelievable about meself, from time to time. I guess I like exploiting terribly gullible persons, which is why there's so many peculiar stories floating around me name…" He grinned mischievously. "Only about half of them are from me, though."_

"_Ah." She smiled back. "I suppose it's good to not take one's life too seriously, though it is a bit cruel to scare a woman as badly as you scared Gertrude."_

_Jack merely shrugged. "I suppose it's another black mark…good thing I also saved 'er life an' treated her kindly eh?"_

"_That it is," Pearl agreed as the scales briefly appeared and tipped more towards the good side. "It was very nice of you to treat her well." She gently kissed his cheek._

_Jack chuckled and shrugged. "Not too nice…but I figured she deserved at least someone t' smile at her. The rest of the crew ignored her. Well, up until this incident. Her bowsprit was particularly nice to stare at…" He looked at Pearl mischievously as she frowned at him. "Not tha' tha' was her only redeeming quality, of course," he added quickly, afraid to get the scales to tip back towards the wicked side. "She was very…nice. And clean. Aye, nice and clean."_

_Pearl shook her head, but let his praise of Gertrude rest at that._

Jack smiled somewhat reassuringly, glancing towards the _Wench_. She was quite close indeed. He could make out Billy standing at the helm and Paul (one of the Beckett's servants) waiting by the stairs on the hull leading to the main deck. Lady Beckett and her son were busy peering anxiously over the railing, grasping it quite tightly to keep themselves from being tossed over the side of the rather mischievous ship. It was about time. Jack was tired of treading water with so much weight in his arms.

"I know," she murmured, though Jack could still feel her shivering with fright. He helped her swim towards the _Wench_ and then pushed her up towards the stairs. She took a few steps forward and nearly tumbled back into the water, for it was hard for her to grab the wood with her cold and wet hands, but they both eventually made it back up on deck. Gertrude was quickly covered up by Beckett's jacket and Jack was applauded as soon as his feet were safely back on deck. Gertrude, in a stroke of bravery, kissed his cheek. "Thank you," she murmured, before stepping back to look at her fiancé.

"Thank you, Jack Sparrow," Beckett said a bit stiffly, staring at Gertrude rather than looking towards Jack. He knew as well as everyone on board that his intended was quite enthralled by the talented navigator. That wasn't why he was staring at Gertrude, however. Seeing in her wet shift made him think that perhaps his choice in a wife hadn't been as diplomatic as he'd thought. The rest of the crew were quite interested in her body as well, until Lady Beckett ushered her off to get dried and to change.

Lord Beckett, hunched over with his cane in his hand, walked to where Jack stood dripping near the railing as everyone went back to their assigned posts. His wise old eyes carefully examined the panting young navigator and he smiled. "Thank you," he said graciously, holding his hand out to Jack to shake it as Beckett watched Gertrude disappear below decks. "You're quite the young man," he added, as they shook hands. "Very adventuresome. How long were you planning to stay aboard the _Wicked Wench_?"

Jack slowly let go of the man's leathered hand, tilting his head in thought. "Well…I really like Captain Odell. 'E's a fair man, really. I suppose as long as 'e'll have me aboard. Why?"

"Ah." Lord Beckett looked slightly disappointed. "No reason, really. The moment you decide to strike it out on your own, visit me in London." He winked and then laughed before shuffling away, leaving Jack to simply muse over what he'd said. His son, however, was now carefully scrutinizing Jack. He'd never been complimented by his father and rightfully now felt quite a bit of resentment towards Jack. The remainder of the journey would certainly prove interesting.


	12. Chapter Eleven: The Injury

Disclaimer: I don't have permission to be writing any of this.

_Author's Note (9/17/06):_ Right. This is a long chapter. I'm terribly sorry 'bout that. It's quite good, in my opinion, but feel free to leave constructive criticism. Or praise. Or both. Or just a review. I like those. In other news: Talk Like a Pirate is this coming Tuesday. Don't forget it. My birthday is in three months. Scary. And you should check out_Incendie en Soufre_ by East Coastie1500. It's brilliant.

**Chapter Eleven: The Injury**

The _Dancing Dame_ probably wasn't going to be winning any contests for cleanliness in the relative future. The small pub, situated near the Thames in London, had so many sweaty and salty individuals inside her rather grungy stone walls that a man could scarcely breathe without inhaling the hair of one of the well-endowed barmaids or the beard of an old salt who'd seen too many days out in the sun. Jack, having arrived well after all of the available seats were taken, was standing next to the wall, leaning against it as he calmly watched several drunkards speak with slurs that were hardly decipherable from one another. It astounded the young man that the drunkards seemed to understand one another without any difficulty. He vaguely wondered if he became that way when drunk but figured he probably didn't. He seemed to slur his words just as much when drunk or sober in his eyes. Then again, the men sharing stories of lost love probably thought they were talking perfectly normally. It all depended on one's perspective.

Grinning slightly as one of the drunkards fell onto the filthy floor, Jack tipped his mug of pale ale back and took a drink, vaguely surprised by the taste. Ale wasn't his favorite alcoholic beverage, but the barkeeper had run out of the sweet and sugary drink with more alcohol in it known as rum by the time Jack had found this wretched place men were driven to in an attempt to escape reality. It certainly wasn't as free-flowing here as it was in the Caribbean. Plantation slaves would often brew their own form of rum, so it was quite easy to find the stuff for a reasonable price. Rum was what made the aristocrats in the Caribbean so wealthy.

As he was drinking the rather heady mug of ale he'd purchased, a man older than him with dark brown hair, light eyes with dark bags underneath them, and broad shoulders ran right into Jack after being tossed nearly ten feet by a gargantuan man with only one eye. Jack hit his head against the wall, making a noise that a head just should not make as his brain collided against the skull. His hand automatically opened and the mug of ale fell down, sloshing its yellowed contents all over Jack's shirt and the clothes of the man who'd been tossed, who happened to be in a lump near Jack's feet. It was only by pure chance that the navigator avoided falling as well. He just stood there, temporarily dazed, as the tavern quieted and everyone turned to watch what was happening.

"So that's yer answer?" the man cried a bit hoarsely before standing up. Jack wanted to get as far away from the sudden drama as possible, but found his escapes were all blocked off. There was a table to his left and now the ale-covered man to his right and the mountainous man in front. He pulled a slight face, stepping as far away from the clearly drunk man as he possibly could, which increased the distance between them by about two inches.

The giant glared at the man now leering at him. "Bill, ye bloody ijit, I tole yew ter stop befure. Yew owes me fifteen pounds an' I ain't gunna spot yew fer another shilling." The look in his sole blue eye was that of complete hatred, prompting Jack to wonder why this Bill fellow would bother trying to get money out of such a brute. "Doan' make me 'urt yew more'n'at. I doan' care vat me sister did marry yew, yob. Yew doan' take care o' 'er likes yew did an' family ties only go so far."

"I only need a quid," the man called Bill pleaded, hardly looking surprised to hear his large brother-in-law deny his request for money. "Jus' t' tide me over un'il I sell some more. I was planning to get a _small _drink an' spen' the rest on some milk for the lad, honest, Abe. The nit's taken ill."

Abe merely shook his head. "I ain't gonna fall fer that again, Bill Turner. Stop askin' me an' mine fer money an' actually work." He waived his fist threateningly before tromping out of the tavern. Everyone squished together to give him plenty of space to reach the door, not really wanting to be on the receiving end of his wrath.

Once Abe was outside, Bill Turner frowned and then pulled a face at where his brother-in-law had been standing. "Bugger," he said disgustedly to himself, especially when he noticed that his white shirt was stained by Jack's ale. "Amelia will 'ave me head over this," he lamented, glancing towards Jack and noticing the same offending stains over the young man's shirt. "Did you drop yer ale on me?" His breath reeked of alcohol, indicating that he'd been able to squeeze a few shillings out of somebody.

Jack didn't know whether or not this Bill was angry or if he found the situation amusing or bothersome, so he merely nodded. Bill grunted in response to that and Jack said, "I din' mean t'. I mean, ye 'it me firs'." He over emphasized the s in first, prompting Bill to assume that Jack had been drinking for quite some time, tonight. Jack wasn't even aware he was slurring his speech more than usual. He'd only had a swallow of ale and couldn't be suffering ill effects from it because it had less alcohol than the rum he usually drank.

Bill turned to look at Jack, a frown on his fairly attractive face. The poor man looked quite overworked and just a little bit on the hungry side. "Through no fault o' me own. I'd offer t' buy you a replacement, but I'm sure ye overheard some o' me financial difficulties."

Jack nodded soberly, frowning back in response. "I still think ye should offer _moi_ some sort o' recompense," he stated. "I mean, I'd jus' _barely_ purchased said bever'ge."

"Aye, but said beverage ruined me best shirt."

"It isn' me fault you 'it me," Jack pointed out again.

"I'd say we're at a bi' of a stalemate."

"I don' see how that's possible. _You_ are clearly the one at fault over both dichotomies. Dispensations." He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to picture what it was he was saying. "Directions. Dirt. Er…discrepancies." He smiled slightly, wondering why his best weapon seemed to be failing him right now. Generally he was very good with words.

"Yer not from around 'ere," Bill said with a scowl. "I be a mostly respectable man down on me luck. Give me a break, fer pity's sake. Amelia will hem an' haw about what I've done wiv me shirt, as if she doesn' have enough t' get angry wiv me over. I can ne'er do anyfin' right." He sighed, glancing down at his plain cotton shirt miserably, clearly letting some of the fumes in the tavern get to him. "She'll ge' tha' look in her eyes when I come back wivout anythin'…" he groaned softly, looking at Jack with such a desperate look in his eyes that Jack was half tempted to give him some money. "Me son _really_ is ill."

"I don' see why vah' ma'ers t' me." Jack closed his eyes briefly, overcome with a sudden wave of dizziness.

"It don'." Bill sighed again, rummaging around inside his boot to see if he even had a shilling to give to Jack. He came up empty handed. "I really am sorry, mate," he apologized. "If ye give me a day or so…"

"Forget about it." Jack really didn't want to meet a complete stranger in a tavern over a few shillings. The drink was gone and he really hadn't enjoyed it as much as he thought he would.

Bill looked at Jack, surprise in his light brown eyes. "Ye mean that, eh?"

"Forget about it. Don' mention it. Now leave me alone." Jack smiled very slightly before sidling his way through a few people near the bar. His head was starting to pound, thanks in part to the odorous concoction of thick smoke, sweat, and body odor. The noise certainly didn't help, nor did the fact that he'd hit his head against the stone wall.

Once outside the _Dancing Dame_, Jack heaved a sigh of relief, hardly noticing the fog that had enveloped London entirely in the short time he'd been inside the bawdy institution. The cool air, at first, felt refreshing and he felt as though he could think more clearly as he started walking down the cobblestone streets towards his lodgings of the past week. He had to admit that they'd done a good job rebuilding the large city since the latest outbreak of the plague and the great fire, but he had yet to really see why that was. London didn't appeal to the young navigator: it was too large, too similar to other towns in the Caribbean, and full of all sorts of unfriendly and unsavory characters just waiting to kill a man over a few shillings. To make it even worse, it was freezing to the Caribbean-born lad, especially when the wind kicked up or it rained. Sometimes he felt as though his fingers would never move again, even though it was spring.

Jack couldn't wait until Captain Odell decided to leave port again for warmer waters. Keaton had mentioned something about going to the Mediterranean to sell some of the goods they had been able to obtain in India. Jack just hoped that the Becketts didn't decide they needed further help from the crew of the _Wicked Wench_. They were probably too busy in preparation for the wedding to even notice if the _Wench_ left port.

Turning onto Fleet Street, Jack happened to notice a black cat dart across the street. He suddenly realized how cold it was and shivered, nearly falling down in the process. "Somefin' isn' right," he mused aloud, reaching towards a wall to steady himself. Once he was standing perpendicular to the ground, he resumed walking, touching the wall periodically in an attempt to walk in a straight line. He felt as though he were walking down a staircase and had forgotten there was another step, though the ground was relatively level. His hand moved from brick to nothing as he reached a break between two buildings hedged by an overgrown shrubbery. Alarmed, he toppled over into the waiting boughs of the uncomfortable plant.

"Ouch," he mumbled, along with several choice words as he tried to disentangle himself from the grasping green fingers all over in his hair. His already injured head had bashed into the main branch of the large bush. "This is no' me day," he lamented.

"'Ello there, mate," a rather ominous-sounding voice said, breaking through the darkness for a brief moment. It was impossible to pinpoint where it was coming from. "Need some 'elp, eh?"

"It'd be approved-er-appointed…appeler…applicable…apparent…apropos…après…à pied-"

"Appreciated?" one of the figures suggested helpfully.

"Tha's the one!" Jack smiled slightly, sensing that something was not right as he sat up on the road. Five men appeared from the dense fog. Most were carrying a blunt object, but the one who seemed to be the leader carried a saber. "Appreciated." He calmly surveyed them for a moment. "Howe'er, I'm gettin' the impression you're no' the sort of gen'lemen what dispense help wivout some sort o' monetary…condensation. Er, compensation."

The leader grinned at Jack. He was a short fellow with a rather bulbous nose and perpetual scraggly five o'clock shadow. He took his hat off and bowed ceremoniously towards the young man on the ground. "Ye don' sound well 't'all, mate," he remarked with an acidic voice as all five men stepped closer. "'Ad one too many drinks, then? Poor lad. Ought ter learn 'ow to hold your liquor, really."

"Undoubtedly," Jack agreed, trying to stand up and at least offer some sort of defense. He had no weapon with him, which he now realized was stupid, but he could at least hit back. As it was, he seemed stuck in the shrubbery.

"Let's help the lad out, mates!" the leader said cheerfully. "'E should be able t' get back up on his feet if 'e's a bit lighter, no?"

"Aye," the other four agreed, grinning as they got their blunt objects ready. The last thing Jack saw was a club headed towards his face before the whole world went black.

"_That was probably the wors' day of me life," Jack remarked as he looked at himself amongst the branches of the shrubbery. "Luck-wise, a' least. Everything that could've gone wrong did go wrong."_

"_It isn't raining," Pearl pointed out, looking towards the heavens. "You could've caught pneumonia on top of your numerous injuries. That would've been far worse luck."_

_Jack looked over at Pearl with an expression on his face that seemed to say he couldn't believe she was wasting energy to say something like that. "Could've. Wasn't. Are you always tha' bloody optimistic?"_

_Pearl smiled slightly and nodded. "Yes. Have to be. You know, being a ship and all… I don't really have any say in anything. I go where I'm told to go, do what nature tells me to do…the only way to keep from going insane is to see how it could be worse."_

"_I thought ye were jus' a figment of me imagination…" Jack was looking at her very curiously indeed as she merely smiled and shrugged._

"_It isn't important what I am and what I am not," Pearl said gently. "We're focusing on your life here. It was good of you to be so kind to Bootstrap before this whole mess."_

"_I don' really see it as nice, though. Wha's the point of getting upset at someone what was jus' beat up by his own brother-in-law? Poor man 'ad a rather miserable life at this point in time. Honestly din' think I'd see 'im again, so figured it weren't worth it to make a fuss."_

"_Aren't you supposed to argue your case here, Jack?" Pearl asked, teasingly. He really hadn't been doing it as much as she'd expected him to do, because Jack really thought that the facts spoke for themselves._

"_So I am," he said, sounding surprised. "Right. Yes. It was _terribly_ good of me t' be so kind t' Bootstrap an' these gentlemen 'ere, wasn' it? I mean, I gave them money t' drink an' I din' get mad at Bootstrap for spillin' me drink. Quite altruistic o' me. I even gave these fine gentlemen practice at defending themselves."_

_Pearl laughed, the sweet peals of her mirth floating around the stopped scene. It suddenly shifted from night to day when she finished. "That's better. You defend your actions more like that and those who decide your fate will be more than willing to let you return to your body at World's End when the priestess reaches it."_

"_Tha's good to know," Jack remarked, staring at his unconscious self and putting his hand to his head. He'd never realized how much the injury had bled while going through the whole experience…_

"_Of course it is. Without you…" She shuddered. "Well, I'm not allowed to say what might happen. Shall we continue?"_

"_Let's. Things get more better after this."_

Jack came to as someone started to shake his shoulder. "You alright?" a worried voice asked as the shaking continued. "Look a downright mess. Get in'o a fight in a tavern?" Jack slowly cracked his eyes open, wincing at the bright sunlight as he tried to focus on a man with muttonchops staring down at him. He had crisp blue eyes that seemed reasonably intelligent that brightened the moment Jack's eyes finally opened.

Jack was lying on the street near the shrubbery, bruised and bloodied after a night of opportunistic scavengers stole everything of value he had on him. "Wha' time is it?" he asked groggily, feeling as though he'd swallowed a piece of metallic cotton. He could hardly breathe his throat was so dry and foul tasting.

The man, who appeared to be in a sailor's outfit for the Royal Navy, glanced towards where the sun was in the sky. "Probably abou' three, mate. What happened to ye?"

"Can't remember." Jack groaned and tried to sit up. A wave of pain swept across his head as he did so.

"Your head is bleeding," the sailor pointed out helpfully. "Would ye like me t' take you to a surgeon?"

Jack blinked a few times, slowly reaching up to his head. He was rather surprised to feel the sticky wetness of blood near his hairline. "How far are we from the _Fallen Star_?"

The sailor thought for a moment, not entirely sure why a man in a condition such as Jack was in would want to know information like _that_ when he seemed rather ill. "No' too far. 'Bout a block or so. Why?"

"I'm stayin' there wiv the surgeon from me ship," Jack slurred, putting his bloodied hand on the cobblestones. He left a red handprint as he pushed himself up onto his feet. Once he was standing, he wobbled from side to side as he tried to orient himself. "Which direction?" he asked as he nearly fell down again. The world seemed to be spinning in the wrong direction.

The sailor quickly grabbed Jack's arm and put it around his shoulder. Fortunately, they were about the same height, so Jack was able to stand with his assistance. "Come on," he said kindly. "I'll take ye down there."

"Thank you." Jack doubted his voice had ever expressed so much gratitude before. The thought of trying to find his lodgings by himself was daunting indeed. "Wha's yer name?"

"Joshamee Gibbs. I'm a sailor aboard the _HMS Bombastic_." The man smiled slightly, deftly catching Jack before he tripped over a broken stone.

"_This is how you met Gibbs?" Pearl asked rather incredulously._

"_Well, aye," Jack said with a laugh. "Didn't you read me history?"_

"_I did." Pearl grinned, clearly embarrassed. "I guess…it's just different in person."_

"_Sure." He smirked at her and shook his head. "I think ye jus' forgot. I mean, Gibbs doesn' seem like all tha' much, when you first meet 'im….well, maybe 'e seems like a superstitious idiot, bu' he knows a lot. Fine man, Joshamee Gibbs. Good friend. I was very glad he was the soldier what found me. Probably the _only_ man still alive who knows why I walk so oddly an' use my hands so much."_

"_Probably," Pearl agreed. "All those hits to the head certainly didn't help."_

"_No, they din'." Jack grimaced slightly at the memory. "Ah well. I am who I am as a result. Who needs t' walk in a straight line or speak without a slight slur no matter how one tries to mask it? Certainly no' me."_

_Pearl nodded, gently putting her arm around his waist. She could sense that the fact he would always stick out in a crowd had bothered him before, but Captain Jack Sparrow would just not be the same without the ridiculous walk. He smiled at her and put his arm around her shoulder, rather amused to see Gibbs looking so young._

"Jack Sparrow, o' the merchant galleon the _Wicked Wench_."

"What happened t' ye, Jack?" Gibbs questioned as they passed a bakery.

Jack looked at Gibbs curiously for a moment. "I wish I could remem'er, bu' I've a nasty sneaking suspicion I was robbed."

"What's the last thing ye remember?" Gibbs was worried that Jack would simply fall over unconscious. The man's walking pattern was beyond sporadic. He looked like a toddler taking its first uneasy steps and often would nearly trip Gibbs as well. The odd thing was that Jack didn't smell like alcohol. Perhaps there was something wrong with his head.

"Er…" Jack closed his eyes as he thought about that, nearly being run over by a carriage in the process as he stepped towards the right rather than forward. "Ale. I hit me head an' I spilled my ale all o'er someone…Bill, I think was his name. An' then I left the tavern. An' tha's all I remember."

"Quite the story there," Gibbs commented, getting closer to the buildings on the side of the road so that his new young charge wouldn't be killed in his care. He wasn't entirely sure why he stopped to help the young man, but he had nothing better to do this evening. The _Bombastic_ wasn't scheduled to leave port for another week and he'd spent most of his pay already. "Ye were probably accosted in the fog. Happens all the time, unfortunately. London isn' safe at night."

Jack merely nodded, visibly brightening when he noticed the _Fallen Star_. "I know tha' place," he announced primarily to himself. "We're on the second floor."

"Alright. Will this surgeon o' yers be in?" Gibbs asked as he helped Jack across another street and into the _Fallen Star_. It was a surprisingly well furnished inn with an empty lobby. Gibbs carefully helped Jack up the stairs and took him to the room Jack thought Killian was in. When Gibbs opened the door, he saw Killian sitting on the edge of his bed reading one of the latest medical journals to come out since the _Wench_ had set out for India.

Killian looked up and jumped when he noticed Gibbs' uniform. "Can I help you?" he asked, a suspicious note to his voice as he set the book carefully down on the floor. "Jack!" he exclaimed, as soon as the man staggered his way inside. "What happened?"

"Dunno," Jack replied, putting his hand on the wall to keep from falling over. "Do ye 'ave a bandage? I think me 'ead's still bleeding."

Killian frowned slightly, standing and leading Jack to his bed before grabbing a bag full of medicinal supplies. He looked over to Gibbs. "Thank you for bringing him back here. If you'll wait a while, I can offer you a bit of compensation. It looks like our navigator's got a rather serious concussion."

"Will 'e be alright?"

"It depends," Killian murmured, glancing over at Jack, who was now lying on the bed staring up at the ceiling with a rather puzzled expression on his face. "Head injuries can often cause irreversible damage." He looked back at Gibbs. "Go ahead and wait downstairs. I'll bring some compensation for your troubles after I've finished a thorough examination."

"Oh, no, don' worry about it," Gibbs said modestly. "I don' need anythin'." He smiled slightly and then stepped out of the room. The monetary compensation would've been nice, but he really didn't think he deserved it. All he'd done was be a moving support.

Killian seemed rather surprised, but turned his attention back to Jack. He grabbed a basin of water and washed the largest cut on Jack's scalp before stitching it together. It wasn't until he'd finished stitching another small cut on his scalp that he noticed Jack was still awake. "How can you handle so much pain?" he asked, clearly bewildered.

Jack smiled very slightly. "My father whipped me when I was a lad," he said honestly. Killian seemed surprised, but it made sense. Of course a child subjected to such pain would be able to handle it with hardly a problem in the future. "Are ye almos' finished yet?"

"Almost, unless you've some cuts in other places. It seems they just decided to hit you in the head and rob you."

"Ah." Jack's smile slowly disappeared. "Wha'd you mean by 'irreversible' damage?"

Killian frowned slightly as he pulled the last stitch through both sides of Jack's skin and tied it off. "It depends. You'll probably be fine." He clipped the thread and needle from the skin and then daubed his work with a wet rag. "It is possible, however, that you'll have some difficulty walking or talking. Unlikely, but possible."

"Oh." He sighed softly. "I had a hard time walkin' here."

"That might just be a fluke," Killian said a bit hopefully. A man that couldn't walk without falling down was a liability on a ship. Killian was fond of the young navigator. Jack was a fine addition to their crew. He always did what he was asked and helped out whenever he had a spare moment. He could be a hazard if he constantly misplaced his equilibrium, falling overboard all the time or something.

"Right." Jack smiled very slightly. "Thank ye. I'd pay you, bu' I've been robbed I think."

"This is my job, remember?" Killian asked as he grabbed a bandage and wrapped it around Jack's head.

"Right." Jack blinked a few times as someone knocked at the door. "You going to get that?" he asked curiously.

"It's probably your friend with a regiment of soldiers," Killian murmured darkly under his breath before going to the door and opening it. He was quite surprised to see Paul there instead, the servant to the Becketts.

"Lord Beckett requests an audience with Master Sparrow," the man announced importantly, throwing his chest out with mention of his master. Servants often developed quite a lot of pride concerning those who provided for them, and Paul was no exception. "I was informed he was in here."

"He is," Killian confirmed, scowling at Paul for a moment. "He's rather indisposed at the moment. How urgent is this audience?"

"Lord Beckett wants to see him in twenty minutes. I'm here to escort him and Captain Odell there."

"Can you please get Captain Odell first? I have to finish bandaging Jack's head…he was mugged last night."

Paul's eyes showed a slight flicker of emotion for a few moments before he nodded. "I can do that. I'll be back in a few moments."

"Thank you." Killian smiled, albeit sarcastically, before shutting the door to put a final layer on Jack's head. He almost looked like he was wearing a white bandana. "I guess that will have to do," he commented with a sigh. "I can't make you better, and I'd really prefer to see you sleep, but since _my_ opinion is nothing compared to Lord Beckett…" He rolled his eyes and sighed. "You'd best go. It must be something important if Captain Odell is going as well."

Jack nodded and sat up, ignoring the feeling that he was floating again. "'Ave you e'er wondered wha' things look like from high up?" he asked rather randomly as he stood. "I mean, d' we look like a whole bunch o' bugs up on high, barely indistinguishable from one anover? An' if so, why do they say God cares abou' all of us? How can 'e tell who we are?"

Killian looked at him curiously and then shrugged. "One of those questions that can't be answered until man can fly, I suppose." He smiled slightly as Captain Odell opened the door. Paul was standing behind him, looking anxiously at Jack before resuming the look of a self-absorbed servant.

"Thank you, Killian," Odell said a bit tiredly, looking at Jack critically. "You really ought not to get into situations you can't win, son," he said with a slight frown. "Come along."

Jack smiled slightly in response. "Aye aye, Cap'n. Sorry." He swaggered towards the door, resembling a man who had just barely stepped on board a boat. There was something almost graceful about it as he followed Odell and Paul down the stairs. Somehow he managed to follow Paul to the large Beckett mansion without falling, though from time to time Odell would glance at him and give him occasional assistance.

The inside of the Beckett household was just as grandiose as the outside. Lavish velvet drapes covered every window on the first floor. There was wall to wall carpeting, though most people lived with dirt floors. The furniture looked old and was quite uncomfortable, indicating every piece had cost a small fortune. The tables were polished like stars, reflecting the light of the lamps already lit though there was still sunlight outside. Paul led them to a back room.

There were large shelves filled with numerous books inside the study. Both Jack and Odell stared at them in awe, wondering how much knowledge was at the fingertips of Lord Beckett. The invalid was sitting in an overstuffed chair, his legs on an ottoman. His feet were hanging off and they were barefoot. His legs were covered by a blanket and he seemed to have aged nearly three years since they'd arrived in England. "Ah. There you two are."

"Hello, Lord Beckett," Odell said, bowing slightly before taking a seat that the old codger was pointing at. "Why have you called us here? I'm in the middle of preparing for a voyage to the Mediterranean."

"An' I was in the middle o' an operation of sorts," Jack slurred, clumsily taking a seat next to Captain Odell. "Go' attacked las' night," he said in explanation as Lord Beckett stared at his head.

"Sorry to hear that, son," the old man said, though his voice hardly seemed all that sympathetic. "I have a very good reason to call you both here, Captain Odell." He smiled slightly, revealing the three good teeth still in his mouth. "I have a proposition for both of you. Captain, were you being serious when you said you would consider giving captainship of the _Wench_ to Jack when you retire?"

"Yes," Odell replied as Jack's eyebrow raised a bit suspiciously. He really couldn't follow the conversation well with the buzzing in his head, but that seemed like something important. "Jack is a talented sailor. I don't see why this-"

"Well, Captain Odell, I have a few things I need done, as does my younger son Cutler, with discretion. I've come to the understanding that you are both quite more adventurous than at first look and the nature of these activities is…questionable. I want to hire you to work for my family."

Odell frowned slightly, though he was clearly intrigued by the offer. If they had a financial backer, it wouldn't matter if they didn't get the very best profit on whatever it was that Lord Beckett likely wanted them to smuggle. It was a lot less risky than what the captain had been doing over the years. "What sort of compensation would there be?"

"Fifty percent of the profit to share amongst your crew, ten percent for the lad and yourself. I'm not looking for much money, I just need a few things to disappear before Cutler is under consideration to become a director in the Company." Lord Beckett smiled. "We would also ensure that your ship was in fine repair at all times to keep the cargo I have in mind safe. It would just be an odd job, off and on, from us. You'd still be free."

"I don' think I get why I'm here," Jack mused aloud. "How does this pertain t' me?"

Odell looked at Jack and smiled sympathetically. The poor lad must've hit his head quite hard, as he was generally one to catch onto ideas quickly. "I've chosen you to succeed me as captain of the _Wench_, Jack. If we enter into this agreement, you'll need to know about it."

"I don't want the whole crew to know about this, you see," Lord Beckett elucidated. "I feel I can trust both of you. If word were to get out that I was doing something illegal…" He trailed off for a moment. "Well, it needs to be done."

_Jack suddenly started laughing. "Isn' it funny how stupid you can be?" he asked rhetorically of Pearl, who jumped at his sudden amusement. "I can't believe I din' catch what the two were sayin'…then again, I wasn't all that well."_

_Pearl nodded contemplatively. "It must have been a real reassurance to you when you finally figured out that you were going to be a captain at such a young age."_

"_It was. I rightly don' know why Odell picked me. I think 'e could sense what was about to happen…" The captain frowned, shaking his head slightly. "Such a waste o' such great men…" He sighed. "Ah well. Le's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? This arrangement I got meself into will be rather important to remember later, working for both Lord Beckett an' now-Lord Cutler Beckett. Ye know, when I learned he was a Lord, I was rather surprised…he has two older brothers tha' should've come in line first… I imagine some sort o' "misfortune" came t' them."_

"_And that matters why?"_

"_I don' know." Jack chuckled softly. "Sorry. Din' mean to start ramblin'."_

"_Don't worry about it," Pearl said dismissively. "Shall we continue? Things are starting to get terribly interesting."_

"_That they are," Jack agreed. He fell silent, glancing towards Captain Odell a bit sadly._

Odell nodded. "That it does." He looked back at Lord Beckett and smiled. "I'd be more than happy to enter this arrangement with you, Lord Beckett. Thank you for your generosity."

Lord Beckett nodded. "I'll send you more specifics when you're closer to leaving for the Mediterranean, Captain."

Jack still wasn't quite catching what was going on. He was about to repeat what he'd just said when Odell suddenly stood. "Very good, Lord Beckett. I'm afraid that we must leave, now. Important business to attend to." He motioned for Jack to stand and follow him before bowing to the Lord.

Jack slowly stood, moving his hand to bow rather than his head as he had the distinct impression he'd fall down if he did something that extreme. Lord Beckett nodded back towards them both and Jack followed Captain Odell out of the room, his head spinning as the weight of what had just happened finally hit him as surely as Bill had in the tavern. He was next in line to become captain of the _Wicked Wench_ with sanction from the captain and the financial backer of their expeditions…it certainly was a fortuitous day today. Perhaps the old adage that something incredibly good comes about after something terribly horrible was accurate.

Once outside the rolling Beckett estate, Odell looked at Jack carefully for a moment. "I think it's time for you to know something about the _Wench_, son. We're smugglers."


	13. Chapter Twelve: The Mashaka

Disclaimer: No permission has yet been given to me to use Jack's character.

_Author's Note (9/30/06)_: Sorry for the long delay. I had a test in French class yesterday that required studying. Oh, and a stupid paper I had to write in one of my English classes about the word trifle. And a test in my grammar class… Plus I was lazy. I hope you forgive me and leave me reviews anyway. Oh...and Mashaka and Wasaki really are African names, I promise.

_Muse's Note (9/30/06)_: Please, place the blame on me. I wasn't as persistent as I usually am. I had _other_ distractions. But, in the end, it seems that my candy bombings have worked and there is another chapter that I feel is very exciting, really.

**Chapter Twelve: The_ Mashaka_**

Five grim-faced men sat in the captain's quarters of the _Wicked Wench_ around the table Odell normally took his supper at alone. There hardly seemed any reason for them to be treating life so seriously, as the weather was favorable and the beautiful waters of the Mediterranean calm. They were ahead of schedule to arrive at their destination. The crew was getting along with one another, for there were hardly any squabbles that needed to be sorted out by one of the officers. Their cargo was concealed well and they had no need to worry about customs, not with Lord Fabian Beckett's seal of approval. Prices for silk in the Ottoman Empire were high, so they would be making a hefty profit on their carefully guarded cargo. However, Captain Odell and his officers seemed to be discussing what the proper protocol during a funeral held on the Ides of March in Rome should be if a visiting dignitary from Spain were in attendance. They'd never seemed to be so serious when in one room together.

"From the looks o' their sails," Tannar said suddenly, breaking the silence like a stale baguette, "it's none other than Wasaki."

At the mention of that name, Odell, Keaton, and Killian flinched. Jack, however, merely looked puzzled. Of the officers, he was the only one who'd never been to the Mediterranean. "How can ye tell it's Wasaki?"

Tannar looked at Jack, a vaguely surprised look on his face. Wasaki was feared across the Mediterranean and was rumored to be more of a cutthroat than Barbarossa ever was a century previous. "Well, other than the fact tha' his ship has a reddish hue ter the very hull, he travels around wiv sails stained by the blood of those unfortunate enough ter see his scimitar."

"So he's a pirate?" Jack couldn't help but sound interested in the prospect of seeing a real pirate face to face, even if they were being shadowed by the most notoriously cruel pirate in the Mediterranean.

"Aye. A Barbary pirate. The man is as hard as steel, they say, an' has survived more near death experiences than a man could shake 'is foot at." Tannar winced slightly. "He enjoys preyin' on anyone not of his country an' has a habit of attacking during the night. It was jus' luck that we saw 'im first." Jeremy up in the crow's nest had spotted a dark something moving towards the _Wench_ about fifteen minutes ago. Tannar had climbed all the way up to get a better look even though it was getting to be more and more difficult for him to do something so strenuous all the time. He knew most of the ships that could pose a threat to a merchant, or smuggler, ship, depending on what they were going by at the time.

"Ah." Jack's dark eyes glimmered with excitement at seeing a way of life from his childhood fleshed out in reality. They fell silent for a moment, trying to formulate some sort of plan to escape the dreaded pirate. It seemed that no one had any ideas, though it seemed simple to Jack. He looked at each of the older men and then suddenly asked, "Why are we jus' waiting for him to attack?"

"Well, we can't outrun him," Keaton reasoned.

"Aye, bu' we don' need to outrun him. If we attack him firs'…well, the surprise might jus' be enough to turn the tables, as it were." Jack smiled slightly. "I mean…how often d' you think a pirate ship is attacked by their prey? They won' be expecting it, certainly, an' they probably 'ave a bit of shine that would bring in a hefty profit."

Odell was staring at Jack curiously, clearly not sure what he thought of the idea. "You mean, resort to piracy ourselves?"

"Well, yes." Jack tried to avoid looking anyone in the eyes, for they all seemed to think he'd lost whatever sense he had.

"We couldn't do that," Killian said in a disbelieving voice.

"An' why not?" Tannar wasn't particularly in the mood to be butchered and wanted to do something as a result.

"Because then we'd be no better than they!" Killian sounded upset, especially when he saw the look that Odell had in his eyes. "You can't be seriously considering this, Edmund, I mean-"

Jack, upon seeing the contemplative look in Odell's eyes, quickly added, "It would keep us from almos' certain death." He grinned slightly. "Besides…we already smuggle. Why no' try something e'en more profitable?"

Odell slowly nodded, perhaps imagining the sort of booty that Wasaki would travel about with. "We might as well try. I shan't back down like some sort of coward."

Killian frowned, a look of incredulity to his eyes. He'd protested enough when Odell started smuggling, as he'd seen many a smuggler under his knife in his old practice, but piracy? It was against the law to prey on ships and take their goods. It didn't matter if you were capturing a pirate, in his eyes. What was wrong was wrong. "Captain, I'd like to formally protest against this decision."

"Duly noted, Doctor." Odell slowly pushed his seat back from the table and stood. "Gentlemen, we have a crew to prepare to go on the offensive in an hour while appearing as though we're doing nothing to our friend shadowing us."

Killian glared at both Tannar and Jack for a moment before standing as well. "I'll go prepare an operating room. I'm sure there will be _plenty_ of injuries for me to deal with before this bloody day is over." Without awaiting any other sort of response, he walked out of the cabin. Odell lived in a fairly Spartan manner, considering his position of wealth. Everything in his quarters could be moved without a moment's hesitation to reposition some of the long nines aboard, if necessary.

The captain looked at his remaining officers and smiled slightly. "This seems like a better plan than waiting to die like a coward." Wasaki left no survivors. Those who were unlucky enough not to be killed were sold into slavery or killed as sport by his crew. "It has been an honor and a privilege serving with all of you for the past few years." He looked towards Jack and smiled. "If the worst should happen to me, let it be known that Jack is to inherit the _Wench_."

"Ay ay, Captain," Keaton and Tannar said simultaneously, not altogether thrilled with Odell's choice. They'd been on the _Wench_ longer than Sparrow. Conversely, they could see why Odell would choose him. They were all getting on in years and Keaton really wanted to head back to his wife in Dublin to catch the few years left that his youngest child would actually want to talk to him. Tannar couldn't move as swiftly as he used to and often woke up with joints so stiff it was a miracle he could walk at all. Jack was certainly the best choice, for he knew something about sailing and the crew respected him. Yet, he was a trifle young. He had not yet seen twenty-one years. Regardless of how gifted he was at catching on to concepts, he had a lot to learn.

"Alright, men. Tannar, I want you to take charge on the main gun deck. Sparrow, you accompany him and learn as much as you can. Keaton, I want you at the helm. Slowly decrease the distance between the _Wench_ and Wasaki's accursed vessel, perhaps feign as though you don't know what you're doing. I shall take the remainder of the men below deck and get them prepared for when Wasaki tries to board us." He smiled at each of his trusted officers, though there seemed some sort of hardly definable worry in his blue eyes. "Dismissed."

"_Never realized 'ow worried he was," Jack commented with a slight grunt, standing close to Captain Odell. It was very obvious that the captain of the _Wench_ was nervous, but only up close. "Odell was remarkably gifted a' hiding his true emotions."_

"_He had every reason to be worried. Don't you get worried every time you attack a ship?" _

"Well, yes. I did. Can't know wha' they might be hidin', af'er all. I've misjudged ships 'afore. Some captains put up a fight more than others." Jack smiled slightly. "I'm no' sayin' that he had no reason to be worried, because he did…I jus' din' notice it."

_Pearl nodded, clearly not sure why he bothered bringing that up. It didn't make any sense. He was arguing his case as to why he still needed to live, not commenting on what he didn't realize about himself._

"_I suppose I idolized 'im a bit. He was a good captain. I tried t' be as fair as he was. Of course, that led t' problems in the future." Jack had a thoughtful expression on his face before slowly shrugging._

"_Ah." Pearl smiled slightly. "Being fair is the better choice. You wouldn't want to be a man like Wasaki."_

"_Of course not." Jack smiled back. Pearl was very obviously excited to see what was about to happen, so Jack decided to stay quiet._

"Come on, boy," Tannar grunted as he started walking towards the door. Jack stared at Odell for a moment and then followed the oft-times grumpy man below to the main gun deck.

The men below deck looked terrified, as they knew about the _Mashaka_ and had heard terrible stories about the man who sailed it. Tannar calmly looked each man in the eye, a look in his grayish-green eyes that made every single one look down at their feet in shame. "The captain says we're ter fire first," he calmly announced after looking at them all. "An' since we're ter fire first, we'd better not miss. If we do, there'd be no point in firin' first, eh?" The man's leathered lips formed something akin to a smile one would wear to a coronation. "To yer stations. If we 'it first, an' if we hit right, we might be able ter keep them away from us." The crew was not prepared to fight. Aboard a merchant vessel, it seemed a bit silly to run drills all the time. Many of them probably had never even held a sword before.

As the men scurried to their various posts, Tannar turned to Jack and grinned. "This is where the fun starts, really," he commented as numerous cannonballs were loaded and the cannons were prepped. "Haven' been in a good scrimmage fer quite some time."

"When was the las' time?" Jack asked as he watched a sailor named Shane prime the cannon. He found this all quite fascinating, actually. He was soon going to learn what it was really like to be a pirate, rather than to pretend to be one. The excitement was almost palpable.

"Er…before ye came aboard," Tannar answered, not sounding very sure of himself. "Smugglin' can be dangerous work, boy. I'm surprised we 'aven' run into anything like this before. Barroom brawls, angry clients that think we've somehow cheated them, pirates, other smugglers, the law…" Tannar glanced towards Jack and then shrugged. "This certainly won' be the las' bad thing we run in'o, boy, mark me words."

Jack chuckled softly and nodded. "I fin' it all terribly excitin', actually. Piracy."

"T'aint as golden as ye'd think," Tannar said in a very knowing voice. "Wretched, 'specially when the scurvy sets in." He smiled, showing a few gaps in his teeth from his struggle with the vitamin C deficiency. "No' ter mention the company."

"You were a pirate?"

Tannar grinned and winked before shouting, "All hands fire!" at the top of his lungs. A volley of shots exploded from the cannons. Moments later, the crew cheered as they heard wood splinter. "Get ready ter shoot again!" Tannar instructed with a nearly maniacal look on his face as he motioned for Jack to follow him. They looked outside one of the gun ports, grateful when they saw the damage they'd caused so far. Perhaps they had a chance at beating the dreaded Mediterranean pirate after all.

Tannar lost interest in Jack and their conversation as soon as the _Mashaka_ fired back. Iron hit metal at a great velocity, sending showers of small pieces of the _Wench_ onto the sailors. Several fell down onto the deck barely able to move their hands as the rest quickly fired off another volley of shots. Jack preferred it this way to being massacred. The _Wench_ was just a galleon, and as such, wasn't as fast as the _Mashaka_. Running would've only delayed the inevitable. Besides, if they managed to pull of a miraculous victory, they would likely find a nice cargo to sell for a hefty profit.

Jack soon caught on to what was going on and started to assist Samuel, a relatively young member of the crew that seemed just about as excited as Jack to be attacking a dangerous pirate. It was relatively simple, really. Once a round was shot, one of the men standing nearby would swab the inside out to ensure that all remnants of gunpowder was gone before putting the cannonball inside as the other one held his thumb over the vent to keep any air from reaching the inside of the chamber. The explosives were added and then a small rod was inserted into the vent to push all the gunpowder away from where the fuse would be put. Once that was accomplished, they would insert the fuse and move away. The trained members of Odell's crew could shoot of two or three rounds a minute. Samuel and Jack were lucky if they got one off every two minutes. There was something terribly satisfying about destroying someone else's ship.

Jack looked up, rubbing his filthy cotton shirt across his forehead to keep sweat from dripping in his eyes as he tried to gauge how far away the _Mashaka_ was. To his surprise, it was nearly within spitting distance. Tannar seemed to have noticed the same thing. "Double yer efforts!" he yelled. "Jack, boy, yer in charge. I've got to see wha' the captain wants."

Jack nodded as another few shots shook the deck. "Keep at it, men!" The thought of shooting at men who were in the same position as they and about to shoot as well was rather terrifying. They were vulnerable down here. "We can do this." His voice was steady, but it lacked a lot of the reassurance that they expected from a superior officer. There was only so much wood between them and a watery grave.

Even if his words were far from consoling or uplifting, the sailors were determined to fight to the bitter end. They'd heard stories about what Wasaki did to those who were still alive or who had surrendered and weren't exactly eager to become a mutilated and desecrated corpse.

Jack was in the process of swabbing the inside of a cannon when Tannar returned, a rather worried look on his face. "Ye can stop now, lad," he said quickly, putting his hand up. "Ye can all stop. They're coming over an' Captain needs everyone up on deck."

Jack slowly put the stick with a sponge attached atop it down, looking around for a weapon. Tannar hurried over to him and handed him a rather rusted looking saber. "This be the las' piece o' sharp left, mate," he explained as Jack stared at it curiously. "Everyone else 'as his own sword, 'cept for ye an' a few other men. Ought ter consider getting ye one o' yer own. The ways I see it, we're goin' ter be doin' this quite often."

"Thank you," Jack said as he put his hand around the large and thick hilt. It was heavier than he expected, so he nearly dropped it, but quickly got a feel for the weapon. "Very much."

Tannar smiled very slightly, pulling his own cutlass out. "Jus' do the bes' you can, lad. Hate to see ye get hurt." The remaining crew on the gun deck hurried towards the main deck, their swords at the ready. Tannar and Jack rushed up the stairs as well, pausing momentarily as they reached the top of the deck to become accustomed to the difference in light.

After Jack stopped blinking, he surveyed the scene before him as Tannar rushed off like a grumpy badger, swinging wildly with his sword at anyone he didn't recognize. The scene was one of pure chaos. Dark men with wild look in their eyes were thrusting their swords into the crew of the _Wench_ at an alarming rate. Jack watched three men fall down on deck with tongues of scarlet licking across their white shirts as the crew of the _Mashaka_ moved on to the next victims. Only a few seemed to be holding their own. Odell seemed to be the largest threat to the designs of Wasaki and his crew. There were several men lying on the deck near him. As a result, he was being swarmed by as much of the demonic crew as could be spared. Keaton and Tannar also had sizeable crowds around them as they hacked their way through skin. Jack just gaped at it all, unable to comprehend what was going on. Men were dying for no reason other than greed.

A sharp pain on his right arm caused Jack to stop trying to make sense of the situation and act. There was a large European man with a ridiculously overbearing hat atop his head leering at him, preparing to strike the youth once more. Jack instinctively positioned his blade to parry the blow, grateful to hear the unmistakable sound of metal hitting metal. His foe seemed slightly surprised to have encountered any resistance and hesitated for a moment.

Pleased that he wasn't dead, the young navigator forgot that his life was still on the line and kept his sword still as his opponent quickly struck him on the left side. The gentle touch of the sword split his skin open and sent waves of pain up to Jack's mind. He recoiled, moving his sword to try and strike the large man.

Clearly the superior swordsman, the European grinned amusedly and easily stopped Jack's blow. The sound of clanking metal seemed to surprise Jack and he hesitated, leaving himself open for another attack. Time was simultaneously fast and slow as the European thrust his sword forward, intending to skewer his inept foe.

Jack managed to deflect the tip from his reaching his belly by stepping to the left. The blade dug itself into Jack's side, rather than into a vital organ. His chest seemed to be on fire as he quickly jabbed his sword towards the brute. He missed.

The man leered at Jack, clearly teasing him with his dark eyes as he quickly went in for the finishing blow. Jack watched, astounded, as the blade neared his throat. The metal was mere inches away from slicing his jugular vein to shreds when he heard the clank of metal hitting metal very near to his face.

"Move, lad," Odell said with a slight grunt. His face was pale and his brow was covered in sweat as he drew Jack's foe away from Jack. It was clear he'd had more than his fair share of injuries already.

Jack obediently stepped backward. A wave of relief washed over him as Odell expertly plunged his sword into the man's gut. The European fell over and Odell quickly pulled his sword out. "Th-"

Odell smiled, cutting Jack's gratitude off. "We really need to work on your swordplay, whelp." He chuckled slightly, looking Jack's injuries over. "You alright?"

"I thi-look out!"

Odell looked at Jack curiously for a moment before the terror in the young man's eyes registered. He turned quickly, astounded to find a giant standing with a gleaming and bloody scimitar in his hands. Before he could react to the mountainous dark man nearly a foot taller than himself, the great brute, who could only be Wasaki, slashed his scimitar across the captain's belly and then kicked Odell to the ground. The captain let out a moan of pain before closing his vivid blue eyes.

Jack stared at the tragic scene for a moment, absolutely stunned. Wasaki turned his attention to the inexperienced navigator. His dark eyes were wild and brimming with hatred. The tall, bulky man lifted his scimitar up. Jack knew that this was the end. He moved his sword to where he thought it would do the most good, closed his eyes, and waited for death. They had been foolish for believing that they could beat a pirate like this monster. Jack had been foolish to think his weak skills with a sword would be of any value.

The final blow didn't come. Jack slowly opened his eyes, wondering perhaps if this was all just a terrible dream. There were still quite a lot of men injured or dead on the deck of the _Wench_. The casualties from both sides seemed to be going up exponentially. Wasaki was still near Jack, but to the lad's astonishment, Odell was parrying blows again. His shirt was saturated with blood to the point that it shone in the sunlight. His face was a ghastly white color and he seemed somewhat unsteady on his feet. Valiantly, however, he was protecting Jack and the rest of his crew.

"Now you've made me upset," Odell hissed as his blade moved forward. He slashed Wasaki's chin as the large man moved backwards. Clearly the dangerous pirate hadn't expected Odell to stand again. "I don't like being upset." He slashed again, the tip of his blade finding the fragile jugular vein just below the skin of Wasaki it had been searching for earlier. Blood spurted from the wound as Wasaki dropped his ruby scimitar and put a large hand to his throat. It was of no avail; the wound was clearly fatal.

As Wasaki fell to the deck, a very exhausted Odell turned to look at Jack once more. "Definitely need some lessons," he remarked, with a rather odd grin on his face as he paled even more. Odell fell onto his knees, unable to stand any longer.

Jack knelt down on the deck next to his captain, pressing his hand on the large and bloody gash nearly the full length of Odell's stomach. "I'll get those when we next hit a port."

"Good." Odell closed his eyes again. "Make sure they all get an equal share."

"Of what?"

"Wasaki's booty, of course. Everyone gets an equal share."

"You can see to that yourself. Don' talk like that."

Odell opened his eyes slowly and frowned at the navigator. "Don't be stupid, Jack. Everyone dies. My time is right now. Killian can't do anything for this."

"Sure he can."

Odell rolled his eyes. "Death is just the next great adventure in life, Jack. There is no reason to fear it. Fear of the unknown is irrational." His lips seemed to have lost all color. "Take care of her, Jack."

"Her?"

"The _Wench_." Odell smiled very slightly. "Do you know why you're getting her?"

"Because of me undeniable skill an' expertise?" Jack laughed hollowly, desperately trying to make light of the situation. Death scared the navigator, even if it was irrational. He wanted to live. He wanted others who generally liked him to live.

Odell laughed softly, making an odd gurgling noise as he did so. "She took quite a liking to you when you first came aboard, as did the rest of the crew. That's why I decided to give her to you," he explained.

"Oh." Jack had never heard of a ship with that much personality, but there seemed to be something very different about the _Wench_. He seemed to be able to sense whenever there was something wrong with her. "Thank you, sir."

"I want you to take my boots."

Jack blinked at the completely unexpected comment. "Your boots?" he asked incredulously.

"Aye. My boots. I won't need them any more an' I think they'll fit you." Odell closed his eyes again, clearly struggling to string words together into a sentence.

"_So that's how you got his boots!" Pearl exclaimed, looking excited as she looked towards her incorporeal companion to his boots. They were the exact same. They were less bunched up on Odell, as the captain was taller, but they obviously fit Jack well enough for him to have worn them over the years._

"_I wouldn' steal a man's boots. Tha's going a bit too far." Jack chuckled very softly while looking uncomfortable. He didn't like reliving memories like this. It was cruel. "Does any of this count for or agains' me?"_

"_Well, not really." Pearl glanced towards Wasaki. "It counts for Captain Odell. You'll be happy to know he's quite content."_

"_Can I see him?"_

"_No." Pearl smiled sadly. "Not until after you're dead for good. Right now you're only temporarily dead. It's akin to being sick."_

"_So you already know tha' I'm going to be brought back to life?"_

_Pearl looked chagrinned. "Er…well…er…I don't know for certain, but I strongly suspect you will be."_

"_So this is all pointless?"_

"_No." Pearl frowned slightly. "You need to review your life, Jack, because you need to understand you."_

"_Oh." Jack sighed softly. "Right. Le's continue, then."_

"I can do tha'," Jack remarked, staring at the brown sea boots that Odell wore. They looked quite nice and probably would fit. "Thank you, Captain." There was a terse pause. "I wish there was somethin'-"

Odell opened his eyes once more, staring intently into Jack's eyes. The navigator expected some sort of final request. "If wishes were horses, we'd all be eating steaks."

"What?" Jack asked, completely taken aback.

There was no answer. Odell was staring up at the sky. The light in his eyes was gone. He was dead. Jack slowly closed the captain's eyes and stood. There was an unidentifiable pressure inside his chest that made it hurt to breathe as his eyes burned. Captain Odell had been like a father to the navigator and now he no longer existed. Life was so fragile. One was full of it one instant and then…nothing. Would Jack go out so easily?

Shuddering, Jack turned to see what was happening to the rest of what was now his crew. Many were in a pool of their own blood, unable to move as they feigned death or tried and miserably failed to stand again. A lot of Wasaki's crew was lying motionless as well. Keaton and Billy were busy rounding up those of the enemy who had surrendered upon seeing their captain dead. Tannar was lying on the deck next to nearly fifteen dead men, struggling to sit back up. He had a streak of blood coming down from his head and leg that seemed twisted in the wrong direction. Killian had emerged from his hiding place and was going from fallen man to fallen man, finding those he could save with his skilled hands. It seemed that they'd won.

Billy escorted their prisoners below deck and Keaton walked over to where Jack stood with an unusual look on his face. "Are you alright Jack?"

"Is anyone ever alright?" Jack smiled very slightly as he forced himself to focus on the first mate. He felt as though he were living in a cave. Everything had an unnatural and surreal feel to it. "I mean…your definition of the word and mine probably vary, don' they? Wha's alright t' ye might be absolutely horrid t' me. Silly question anyway. Do I look alright?"

"Well, not exactly…" Keaton sounded rather confused as to why Jack was bothering to ramble on about something so completely inconsequential. "You've clearly had a fight with a blade and lost."

Jack glanced down at his bloodied shirt and shrugged. "Not as much as Captain did."

Keaton's left eyebrow quirked quizzically until he turned and saw Odell's corpse. "Oh."

"He wants me t' 'ave his boots." Jack turned to stare at the man's boots, determined to not look at his expressionless face.

"That's an odd request."

"I know. Almos' as odd as his request that I take the _Wench_." Jack sighed slightly, bending down next to the corpse. He put his hand on one of the leather boots and started tugging, not entirely sure why he was taking the boots now. "He saved my life, you know."

"I'm fairly sure he's saved everyone's life," Keaton replied gently, glancing towards the large corpse of Wasaki. He had a horrible grimace on his face that made him seem almost alive. "Jack, Captain Odell saw something in you. Some sort of potential to be great. That's why he gave you the _Wench_. You're the only one who really deserves her."

"What does tha' mean?" Jack asked tiredly as he pulled one boot off and reached for the other.

"It's hard to put into words." Keaton sighed softly. "You need to be here, I know that much." He smiled reassuringly. "What are your orders?"

Jack pulled off the other boot and set it down beside him. He glanced up at Keaton and shrugged. "I suppose we'd best claim what it is we won. Go examine their hold an' take what you can."

"Ay ay, sir," Keaton said with a salute. There was no sense in him lamenting over not being picked as captain. He didn't want that much responsibility on his shoulders. "Do we want to take their ship as well?"

"No," Jack said with a wince, glancing towards the bloodied sails. "We'll sink it." He shuddered slightly. "We don't want to get the reputation that we don't give quarter."

Keaton's eyebrow inevitably raised at that suggestion. "Do we intend to continue piratical acts?" Wasaki never gave quarter, which was why he slaughtered all those he came across. If a pirate gave quarter, they would let those who surrendered go free. It was a simple act of mercy that most pirates thought was unnecessary.

"Only when the occasion warrants it." Jack grabbed both boots and slowly stood. The pain in his chest seemed more prominent than ever and there seemed to be an actual burden weighing down his shoulders. He was now responsible for an entire crew, whether he liked the idea or not. Keaton obviously wasn't going to contend Odell's choice in successor, and he was really the only one who had any say in the matter. "We need to hold services for those tha' passed on. An' I need t' learn how to use a sword."


	14. Chapter Thirteen: The Cheese

Disclaimer: I don't have permission to be writing this.

_Author's Note (10/07/06)_: Well, technically, I was finished before midnight my time. Or, nearly finished. So I'm going to say I kept my promise. I don't like wet noodles, you see… Anyway, if you've no idea what I'm talking about, you can read The Token. Or not. Up to you. Either way, I'd like reviews. Speaking of which, I'll respond to those from last chapter tomorrow. Too tired right now.

**Chapter Thirteen: The Cheese**

"I hardly see how this is worth an entire crate o' Chinese silk," Jack grumbled. He was perched atop the famous _Petra tou Romiou_, the rumored birthplace of the goddess Aphrodite, staring out at the aquamarine Mediterranean. The dazzling waters contrasted with the white boulder and cliffs on the island of Cyprus. "I coulda gotten quite a nice profit on it." He sighed softly, tracing a few random patterns into the rock below him.

"I was not the one who asked me for my help." A finely dressed man sat near Jack, a contemplative look to his hazel eyes as he stared out towards the horizon. He was clearly a man of wealth because his clothes were remarkably free of any sort of dirt. He had a haughty look to his pale face and his thick eyebrows seemed to make him be perpetually scowling.

"Well, obviously not," Jack replied with a slight frown. "Be a bi' silly for ye t'-"

"This is one of those times where you must be quiet." Jack's companion, Sandro de Luca, turned to look at Jack sharply. "You know, like we talked of before?"

"Sorry," Jack muttered. He hardly looked repentant as he stared out towards the horizon once more. He had specifically requested that the Italian fencing master teach him how to handle a sword after the fiasco with Wasaki was sorted out. Sandro had agreed, but only on the condition that Jack give him his share of the plunder from the _Meshaka_. Jack considered it a fair trade up until all of this nonsense of becoming in tune with one's self. They had been staring out at the water for over three hours so far today.

The scenery was majestic. Of particular interest were the women on the beach. It was a pilgrimage many barren women made in an attempt to appease the fertility goddess born here. Jack wondered if it worked for them to go swimming in the water. He wanted to go question a few of them, because some took their clothes off to be more in touch with the goddess of love to perhaps absorb some of her greatness. It was an interesting notion.

Near the beach was a goat herder watching fourteen goats. The animals ranged in color from white to black and seemed terribly interesting as well. Jack had often heard about the cheese derived from the milk of goats and suddenly wanted to try some. It was a pity he didn't want to further aggravate the master at his side. He made a mental note to ask around town for goat's cheese.

"_I often 'ad a hard time keeping me head on one thought at a time," Jack remarked thoughtfully. "Silence isn' always the best thing fer me."_

_Pearl jumped slightly, startled at the sound of Jack's voice. "I can tell," she remarked dryly. "You like to throw comments in all the time, regardless of whether they're important or not."_

"_Do you realize 'ow much you seem t' shift moods?" Jack asked exasperatedly. "I'm making this statement fer a reason. Sometimes, I make decisions I regret later because I decide somethin' wivout thinking it entirely through. Like the day I died. I left like a coward because tha' was me first impulse. When I actually thought of it, I decided what was better."  
_

"_Well, if you hadn't left, they'd all be dead now. You brought back the only means of transportation."_

"_Not intentionally."_

"_You're supposed to say that it was. Remember, you're trying to argue the fact that you need to be back on earth."_

"_I thought it was guaranteed." Jack sighed softly._

"_Not necessarily." Pearl looked at her hands. "Please, Jack, we've a lot to cover and this isn't entirely the most interesting part of your life."_

"_I'm sorry," Jack apologized, though he didn't really mean it. Wasn't this supposed to be some sort of commentary on his past? Perhaps he'd done something to offend his hostess._

Sandro shifted his weight uncomfortably on the rough rock. It was the first time he'd moved anything other than his head in the hours he'd been sitting there. His breathing had been so rhythmic as to nearly put Jack to sleep. "Do you feel ready to beat me?" he queried as he looked towards Jack.

"What?" Jack's eyes widened in slight alarm. It was true that he was better parrying blows than before, but there was no way he could match Sandro's speed.

"Do you feel ready to conquer me?" Sandro smiled very slightly. "Have you thought the battle out in your mind?"

"Tha's impossible," Jack practically scoffed.

"No it isn't." Sandro slowly stood, wiping at his fine clothes with grand sweeping gestures of his hairy hands. "You cannot win a battle if you do not win it in your mind."

"Is tha' supposed t' make sense?" Jack asked tiredly as he stood as well. He could hardly feel his left leg from the hours of sitting without movement.

"Have you learned nothing with silence?" Sandro sounded disappointed. "I thought you were an apt pupil, Jack Sparrow, but I now see you aren't."

"Captain Sparrow," Jack muttered proudly. He liked hearing his new title with his name. It sounded better now than it had during his games as a child. "I did learn tha-"

"You have learned nothing." Sandro glared at his pupil for a moment. "However, we have no more time to contemplate the silence. I have a ship to catch in a few weeks and your stubbornness will make it impossible for me to teach you anything if we do not start now."

Jack frowned. "I ain't stubborn," he insisted, reaching for one of the sticks they were using to train with. Jack had been rather uneasy about training with a master swordsman with actual swords because the cuts he'd received from the crew of the _Meshaka _still hurt from time to time. He'd been relieved when Sandro produced two sticks for them to learn the basics with. "I want to know."

"Sometimes I wonder if you truly do." Sandro sighed and pulled his sword from his sheath. The fencing master favored a heavy sabre, which was somewhat unusual. Most fencing masters favored the épée, a type of sword developed nearly two centuries previously. As the object in fencing was to show off one's skills rather than to actually kill another person, the épée wasn't terribly lethal. It had a round guard, to protect the hands of the fencer, and could range from quite heavy to ridiculously light in weight. While using the épée to fence, a man could strike anywhere on his opponent's clothes to win points. Sandro's sabre, however, was large. It was designed to easily cut and had a curved guard for the hand and a triangular blade, based vaguely off the scimitar. A fight between two masters with sabres could be quite aggressive indeed. Only strikes above the waist would be counted during a scored match. Watching two skilled men fence was quite graceful.

Jack paled at the sight of the sword. "No more wood?"

"No more wood," Sandro confirmed. "It is time that you get to know the weight of your blade, get to know how she sings and how much force you need to use."

Jack slowly set the stick down and tentatively pulled his own sabre out of his sheath. He'd bought it when first reaching Cyprus with the intent of learning to fight on his own. It was only by chance that he'd found Sandro fighting his way out of a tavern during the middle of a barroom brawl. He'd been impressed by how Sandro had rendered his foes unconscious but had not killed them when he so easily could. He'd waited until the fight ended and went in, ordering Sandro a drink of zivania. After a lengthy conversation in which Jack nearly drooled due to the highly alcoholic drink, they'd struck up a bargain.

"Do not fear, Captain Sparrow," Sandro said condescendingly. "I shall not kill you. If I were to, I would not get my crate of silk."

"I hardly find tha' reassuring."

Sandro smiled and then bowed towards Jack. "We shall practice the basics I have already taught you. Have you been practicing them?"

"A bit." Jack slowly bowed back. Every fencing bout and lesson was started and ended with a salute like this. The opponents would show off their blade so that their foe could see the length and make of the sword to ensure fairness. Jack obviously wouldn't be doing his enemies a favor like that in the midst of battle. He shook his leg until the painful tingling stopped and it woke up.

"We shall soon see if you are lying." Sandro smiled very slightly before advancing. "Let us test your legwork, Captain." He stepped to the right, pleased to see Jack mirror his move. "It appears you have been practicing," he said appreciatively.

"As I said, a bit." Jack moved his foot and very nearly toppled to the ground. Fortunately, he'd developed an odd sense of grace to accompany his clumsiness. He avoided falling, but Sandro laughed at him nonetheless. "Thanks," he muttered.

"Have you always been so sure of your footing?" Sandro advanced on him, brandishing his sword this time.

"No." Jack parried the blow, grateful that Sandro was going slower now than he had with the sticks. "I used to be quite a great deal more clumsier."

Sandro laughed at that, giving Jack ample opportunity to slash at him. He only just parried in time. "You have surprising speed," he remarked.

"I surprise a lo' of people in different ways," Jack gloated. He stepped back slightly, letting his guard down as he was complimented.

Sandro flicked his wrist and cut Jack's arm. It wasn't a deep cut, but it certainly stung. "That is your next lesson. Pride is what kills many a man, Jack Sparrow."

"Ouch." Jack glared at the Italian master, stepping backwards. "Let's try tha' again," he insisted. The captain was anxious to learn as much as he could as fast as he could.

"First, I would like to point out what you've done well." Sandro moved his sword downward, so as to not pose a threat to his apprentice. "You distracted me, Jack Sparrow. That is a strength, so long as you can distract a man without distracting yourself."

"Er…thanks?" Jack wasn't sure how he could distract himself by distracting another man. It seemed contrary to logic to be able to do so. "So…is that it for t'day, then?"

"Hardly." Sandro smiled somewhat maliciously before raising his sword. "Come at me with the intent to injure me."

Jack paused for a moment. More than likely, he was about to be made a fool. He was grateful that no one was watching them atop this uneven rock. Sandro nodded his encouragement, so Jack raised his sabre and started towards the master.

Sandro easily avoided the attack. In one fluid movement, he moved his left foot forward and tripped Jack. He toppled and was staring up at the sky faster than he could think. "How did you bloody do that?" he asked as soon as the world stopped spinning so quickly. There were odd little flashes of light on Sandro's face that took a while to fade.

"You came at me with your shoulder, rather than your wrist." Sandro offered Jack his hand and helped the young man up. "It's wasted movement."

"Aye, bu' it feels like it will cause more pain." Jack rubbed at his shoulder, which had hit a rather sharp outcropping of the rock.

"It only takes a small twitch of a muscle to slice human skin, Jack. There is no need to expend more energy than necessary. That slows you down and makes you vulnerable to those who have learned this lesson." Sandro smiled very slightly. "If you're in the business of defending your life, it could mean death."

Jack nodded, clearly understanding that he needed to work on that. "So you strike with the wrist?"

"Yes." Sandro motioned Jack forward again. "Try once more. We'll see if you've learned your lesson or not." He took a defensive stance, waiting for the attack.

Jack nodded. He breathed deeply before raising his sabre. He lunged forward, flicking his wrist to move the blade to strike at his teacher. Sandro deflected it once more, but Jack was prepared for the foot that came out to trip him. He hopped to the right and then lunged forward once more. Sandro, hardly anticipating such a move, actually looked surprised as he parried that blow. "Very good," he remarked.

"I'm a quick learner." Jack smirked slightly and did a cross over, in which he put one foot behind the other. He advanced on the man and then attacked again.

"So it would seem," Sandro said above the metallic clank of their sabres. He feinted towards the left, causing Jack to completely overreact. Jack left his right side open and couldn't react fast enough to Sandro's flick of the wrist that resulted in a searing pain on his right side. He couldn't comprehend how it was that Sandro could move that fast, let alone think that fast.

"You ought t' come on my ship," he remarked as he stepped away, putting his free hand to his side and staring at the blood on his fingertips. "We could use a fighter like ye."

"No thank you, Captain Sparrow." Sandro smirked slightly, tilting his head to examine Jack's injury. "I believe that is enough for today."

"Why don' you want to come aboard the _Wench_?" Jack asked as he sheathed his sword. He was grateful that the lesson was over. He had business to attend to. The three hours spent staring out at the ocean had done nothing to get them accomplished.

"I'm not fond of traveling by sea. It is a necessary evil I must endure." He sheathed his sabre and tilted his head to crack his neck. He smiled in relief as the built up pressure disappeared with a satisfying pop.

"Why are you here, then?" Cyprus was a long way away for someone who didn't enjoy traveling.

"My wife is from here." Sandro looked distinctly uncomfortable for having relayed something that personal. "If there are no more personal questions, you are dismissed."

Jack chuckled softly. "Sorry." He bowed respectfully towards Sandro. "Thank you for the lesson."

"You're welcome, Captain." Sandro bowed back, turning and walking down the side of the rock towards town. Jack watched him for a moment. Once Sandro was safely out of view, he frowned and looked down at the cut on his side. It stung. "Bugger," he grumbled, rubbing his hand over it again. It seemed to be bleeding as much as the cuts he'd received the day Captain Odell died.

Shortly after Killian had tended to his cuts, Jack had found himself sitting at the desk in the captain's quarters with a piece of paper and a quill within easy reach. He needed to write a eulogy for those who had died, as he was now the captain and in charge of such grim tasks. Everything seemed so empty, especially when he realized that Odell truly was dead. He'd lost a close friend. Tannar had lost a leg. Keaton had a nasty cut near his eye that seemed to be getting infected already. Billy had lost most of his ear and part of his head from a cannonball. Odell had been there, and then he'd been gone and it just didn't seem to be fair. He had cried for the first time in years.

Time seemed to crawl along like an overweight feline, dragging itself along the floor until they reached Cyprus. Life seemed to begin anew and Jack had decided he wanted to learn how to save himself, rather than watch those he cared about save his life. If he'd just had lessons before the attack, he wouldn't have watched Odell die. Perhaps part of what spurred him to take corrections from Sandro was the fact that he felt guilty.

Cursing softly, he started making his way down the rock, careful to not fall as he did so. Once he was down on the stable green earth, he started walking towards the goat herder, anxious to learn a bit more about the curious animals grazing the grass. He carefully sauntered his way past a large black goat staring at him before approaching the goat herder.

"Hello," he greeted warmly as the person turned to look at him. He was rather surprised to see a pair of green eyes belonging to a woman looking him over. "Do you speak English?" he asked with a smirk.

"I speak little," she said, her voice sounding as sweet as a puffed pastries. She smiled back, removing her hat to scratch her sweaty scalp. It made her blondish-brown hair dance like a waterfall. She had a small braid in her hair that had a blue bead that matched her outfit. It had to be terribly annoying to wear a hat all day standing in the sun. "You need?"

"I was wondering if you knew where to get the best goat cheese, actually." He was trying not to stare at her. Something about her simplicity was terribly appealing, not to mention the fact that she was well-endowed and had a pleasing visage.

"Cheese?" She visibly brightened. "Come, come!" With that, she grabbed his hand and led him towards a white goat standing near an outcropping of rocks that resembled tall spires. "Morgan has the best," she explained. The she-goat, known as a doe, looked up at the sound of her mistress's voice. She looked fairly content with life and seemed larger than any of the other does around.

"I don' mean milk," Jack clarified, tilting his head as he examined the unusual looking animal. She seemed content with her lot in life to just eat, sleep, and breed. How many others are the same way?

"I know." The woman laughed softly. "Her milk is good cheese. I have some." She pointed to where they'd just been. There was a small cloth wrapped around something lying on the grass.

Jack looked to where she was pointing. He laughed and turned to look at her again. "Then why did you bring me t' Morgan?"

"She's my favorite." She smiled and then took his hand, leading him back towards the knoll where she'd been standing. Once there, she took the cheese out of the cloth and handed him a small piece. "Feta."

Jack eyed the white cheese and then casually sniffed it, a bit taken aback by its distinctive smell. Never one to back down from a challenge, he put the foreign cheese into his mouth and started chewing.

"You like?" the woman asked a bit anxiously. Morgan bleated anxiously and several of the other goats responded with similar noises.

Jack's expression was quite indecipherable at the moment as he decided whether or not he liked it. "Aye," he finally said after swallowing it. "I like it."

"Good, good." She smiled at him before turning anxiously towards where Morgan was standing. "I go now."

"I don't even know your name, though," Jack protested as she started walking towards the outcropping. He followed her, unwilling to let her disappear without him so much as thanking her.

"Name is Sidonia." She didn't even look at him as she said that, clearly determined to reach her favorite goat. Once she reached the doe's side, Sidonia gently patted the goat's large belly and the knelt next to her.

"Sidonia, eh?" Jack followed her to where she was, leaning against one of the rocks to watch what she was doing. "I'm Jack." She said nothing in response, so he merely watched her go about her work. "What are you doing?"

"Kidding." She seemed intensely concentrated on Morgan, gently patting her and murmuring comforting words in her own tongue.

Jack tilted his head slightly. "Wha's so funny about this?" It became clear what she meant a few moments later. A small head appeared near Morgan's tale and Jack suddenly felt quite woozy. As small goats were called kids, it made sense that birthing a kid would be called kidding. "Oh."

Morgan started bleating again as the kid fell down onto the soft grass. Sidonia smiled, watching the doe gently start to clean her offspring. A few minutes later, Morgan stopped what she was doing and started bleating once more. The small kid on the grass was joined by two more siblings before Morgan ate the placenta to replenish some of the nutrients she'd lost. Morgan sat down on the grass and her kids snuggled up next to her, shivering at the cold and new world.

Once Sidonia had inspected each kid to make sure there were no deformities, she wiped her bloodied hand on her apron and then turned her head to look at Jack. She seemed surprised to see him still there. "You want cheese?"

"Oh…no. I jus'…that was fascinating." He was staring at the kids, stunned. They'd come into existence in front of his very eyes. "How long have you been doing this, Sidonia?" he asked as he looked at her.

"All my life." She smiled slightly, patting Morgan before standing. "What you do?" Her eyes had such a refreshing sweetness and innocence to them that Jack had a hard time doing anything but look into them.

"I'm a captain." A smile stole across his face. "I own a ship."

Her eyes widened at the thought of that. "You must be very rich."

"Not particularly." He wasn't entirely sure where that modesty came from, but he felt no desire to make himself seem something he wasn't in front of this very honest young woman. "Thank you for the cheese, Sidonia."

"Thank you." She smiled and gently kissed him on the cheek. "I have more cheese tomorrow."

"I'll be sure to stop by." He made a quick mental note to bring something of his own to share with her. He tenderly touched her hand and then bowed. "Good day, Sidonia."

"Goodbye." She looked slightly saddened before turning her attention to the kids. They would have to be given names. Plus, she had to make sure the billy goats were acting appropriately. Some of them were in rut and rather hard to control.

Jack watched her silently for a moment before heading off towards the town. He could hardly wait until he got to meet her again. Who knew that such a simple goat herding maiden could be so intriguing?

"_Do you know what the name Sidonia means in Greek?" Pearl asked curiously, surprised that Jack hadn't said anything at all since she'd been a bit short with him._

"_To ensnare." Jack looked at Pearl and laughed. "Very fitting name, I mus' admit."_

"_How did you know that?" she asked curiously._

"_I speak a smattering of Greek." He shook his head and glanced towards the beautiful maiden frozen in time. "Those days were such a breath o' fresh air. Seemed like the storms would never come back."_

"_Obviously they did."_

"_Aye. Ye know something bad is about t' happen if everything seems t' be going according to plan. Generally, the better life is, the worse it becomes in a short amount of time."_

"_It's all for your benefit. You wouldn't be who you are now if you didn't lose a few people close to you or see something you didn't want to see."_

"_I suppose." The captain seemed oddly melancholy. "Tha's enough talking, innit? Le's get on wiv the show so ye can get back to whatever it is ye were doin' in me head before this started."_

"_You have such a way with words." Pearl frowned. There really wasn't time to get into an argument, though. There were still nearly twenty years to cover and each year seemed to get progressively more complicated in his life. Of course, the more complicated they became, the more interesting they were as well. "On with the show, then."_


	15. Chapter Fourteen: The Discussion

Disclaimer: I do not have permission to use these characters.

_Author's Note (12/06/2006)_: I've almost been posting on Fanfiction for three years, now. Weird… I apologize for the length of time since I last updated. School got all evil and life got more complicated and my muse stopped throwing candy at me on a regular basis. This was pushed to the back of my agenda, behind short stories for classes, research papers, and clean checks in my apartment. Plus I wanted to wait and watch the special features on _Dead Man's Chest_ (which were disappointing to me, but I did glean a few things that I have to include in this tale eventually) and had to wait until yesterday to do so. I haven't had much sleep for the past two days and apologize if the end and the commentary between Jack and Pearl is odd…but I wrote the first part about two months ago and had a hard time wanting to write anything else. Never fear, the next chapter is well on its way to being written, so I should update within a week at the latest. After that, no guarantees due to the fact that I've a research paper to polish, finals to study for, and sleep to catch up on. Oh, and a movie to memorize verbatim and deep character analysis to do. I hope to update on a schedule again, though, and would love some encouragement in the form of reviews (hint hint).  
Thank you all for your support thus far. I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's not the best, action-wise, but it does progress the plot, which is important.

**Chapter Fourteen: The Discussion**

The sun was setting, casting colorful shadows along the island of Cyprus like a girl combing her fingers through her hair. The soft sounds of goats bleating could be heard throughout most of the island as various goat herders prepared their flocks for the night. Captain Jack Sparrow was walking towards a particular little hovel, intending to visit Sidonia.

The gentle goat herder had been a constant source of entertainment to the captain for the past few weeks. Every day after his lesson with Sandro, he would stop by her outcropping of rocks and would talk to her. Her freshness and innocence, when compared to the women he'd known in the past, intrigued him to no end. She'd been an untouched bud and he'd been the first to see her become a flower. Sidonia was beautiful and graceful and had an air about her that now attracted the attention of all the men in her village. Jack couldn't wait to see what she had the potential of becoming, even if he strongly suspected she would always remain a goat herder.

As he neared the building, he heard someone call out his name. Turning, he was hardly surprised to see Killian running to catch up with him. "Captain, there is something I must discuss with you," the man said with heavy breathing. He'd apparently been running for some time. Jack wondered how Killian knew to look here. He didn't realize it was painfully clear to his crew that he was in the process of falling for the simple girl.

"Well, then, le's discuss." Jack stopped walking, adopting an annoyed stance as he impatiently waited for Killian to regain control of his breathing. "What's on yer mind, Doctor?"

Killian shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another, signaling to Jack that he likely wouldn't like this discussion. Now, if the doctor would decide to talk about how well Jack was doing at his fencing lessons lately, he'd be more than happy to stand here for hours, but he had the feeling this conversation would be as though Killian were trying to amputate a limb with a wooden spoon. "I don't think we should engage in piracy after we leave port."

Jack nearly rolled his eyes in annoyance. This was a topic he knew weighed heavily on Killian's mind, so he wasn't particularly keen on letting Killian sense his annoyance with the topic, but he also did not want to talk about it. "And why is tha'?"

"Because it's dangerous." Killian looked at Jack in a manner designed to intimidate the captain. "You heard Tannar's screams as I amputated his leg, Captain. That sort of injury is quite common and rather expensive."

"So you're goin' t' charge me for the operation?" Jack asked his companion quizzically. "Tha' hardly seems fair."

"Of course not, Captain." Killian laughed. It seemed forced. "Under the articles pirates generally go by, a man is entitled to compensation for lost limbs, eyes, or other necessities."

Jack blinked. "I know tha'." He scowled slightly, upset that Killian was stealing precious time from him. This time could be in the company of Sidonia, whom he vastly preferred. "Tha's hardly more convincing than the guilt ye tried to get me to go through before. A pirate makes an earnest living."

"Stealing?" Killian scoffed. "That is hardly an earnest living."

"By definition o' the phrase, it isn't…but if ye see it my way, it is." Jack sighed slightly. "Haven't you seen all those gluttonous aristocrats wiv more money then they know how to use earning more money by sittin' around doing nothing? That hardly seems fair, when ye consider that there are thousands of people working every day that can barely make ends meet. If we steal said money from those who don' need it an' infuse it into the economy of those who do, who generally live near taverns in an attempt to drown out the pain of poverty, we're really doin' the world a service."

"So you see yourself as a sort of Robin Hood?" Killian asked skeptically. Jack's logic seemed doubtful. Pirates kept their money to spend on themselves, right?

"I suppose so." Jack shrugged slightly. "We're no' going to become some sort o' savage crew if we indulge in a bit of piracy, Killian. You thought it was fine when we were merely smugglers."

"I never said that," Killian protested. "I thought it quite wrong. When does breaking laws overstep boundaries, Jack? If you're willing to steal from rich people, when do you become one who can steal from the poor? Or a monster that takes from those who need it just because it is nature? I don't want to see you become that."

Jack practically scoffed. "I wouldn't do that, Killian. There are certain boundaries a man can't cross." He frowned. "Wha' makes you think that all pirates are the same greedy souls who can't think of anyone but themselves?"

"I know," Killian said very darkly. "I've patched up enough people to know what pirates are. They kill and steal without thought of anyone but themselves and I'm left to take care of the mess. And trust me, that's all there is. When you become a pirate, your position as captain is questioned whenever you make the slightest mistake. As a result, most pirate captains are hard and cruel and intimidate their crew. You have your whole life ahead of you, Jack, and if you start down this particular road, there's no turning back. You ought to talk to Tannar about how easy it is to sleep after gutting a man for the sake of stealing."

Jack was silent for a moment. It was true that pirates had a very selfish and greedy reputation, for they had decided to not work like "normal" people to augment their income. It was also true that they often became murderers, rapists, drunkards, and everything the clergy of any church warned their flocks against becoming. It was true that many ended up dying of horrible diseases. But Jack was determined to not become a stereotypical pirate. "Killian, ye ought not t' be such a bigot, really. Just because mos' of the pirates you've run into—"

"What about what Lord Beckett thinks? We're still under his employ, Jack." The doctor seemed perturbed. "We're smugglers, not pirates. It is an important distinction, really." At Jack's scoff, he continued. "Pirates kill without thought. Smugglers merely take contraband material from one place to another. There's hardly any killing involved. It's bad enough that you force me to be on a ship that doesn't follow the rules—"

"No one is forcin' ye t' do anything," Jack interjected. "You're free to leave my ship the moment you find my captaining t' be problematic." He stared intently at his trusted friend. "No one is holdin' a gun t' yer head and telling you to come along for the ride."

"I don't particularly want to stay in Cyprus." Killian crossed his arms. "I'm not the only one who thinks this, Jack. Piracy is going too far. Keaton has expressed his concern on more than one occasion."

"Why were ye elected to tell me this?" Jack sounded rather upset. He certainly had no idea on how to be a captain and his first mate wasn't even bothering to tell him something that could possibly be an indication of poor captaining. Perhaps he'd been stupid as a child to think that piracy was anything other than over-glamorized debauchery, lechery, and greed. He didn't want to upset those around him because he didn't want to lose control of the _Wench_.

"I'm the only one who thought it best for you to know this now." Killian tapped his fingers against his elbow. "The rest of the crew is busy trying to decide how long it will take you to end your obsession with Sidonia."

"I'm not obsessed wiv Sidonia," Jack insisted with a scowl. He felt as though he were being attacked for no reason. "She's a fine lass. She'd make a fine wife."

"For a commoner, yes. Jack, she doesn't even know what the word adultery is. How can you seriously consider her as anything more than a play thing?"

"She's got a great personality."

"_What does that mean?" Pearl glanced over at Jack, obviously brimming with curiosity. Being a ship, she was unaware of many idiosyncrasies within spoken language. "What sort of personality did she have?"_

_Jack looked slightly bewildered at the question, at first, as he tried to remember what it was he'd liked about Sidonia in the first place. "Well…when a woman has a great personality, it means there's more t' her than jus' good looks. Sidonia was pretty…bu' she was also simple. At the time, I was rather intrigued by simplicity. Seemed like a fine character trait."_

"_Isn't simple a bit of a cruel remark?"_

"_Yes an' no. She was smart, I could tell, bu' there was something so…fresh." He frowned slightly. "Obviously I was a bi' of a loon for thinking that, bu' I'd seen a lot of women by that time who seemed to have no soul behind their eyes. They'd become objects an' Sidonia still had a light and spark to her."_

"_Oh." Pearl was silent for a moment. "Is that all you liked about her?"_

"_Of course not." Jack laughed softly. "She also had very nice legs."_

_Pearl narrowed her dark eyes. "Wasn't there another personality trait you admired?"_

_Jack thought for a moment and then shook his head. "Not really. Tha's why I just said she had a good personality. It's somethin' a lot of people say when there's nothing else t' compliment."_

"_Would you say I have a good personality?"_

"_In that sense…no." Jack smirked, hoping he hadn't chosen the wrong answer. "But you do have an intriguing personality, luv. After all, yer a ship."_

"_I see." She gave no facial expression to clue Jack in as to whether or not she found that offensive. Rather than press his luck, Jack decided to just be quiet. _

"Yes, one that wouldn't be content to be alone while you go about your work as a captain." Killian looked slightly sympathetic. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, Jack, but she's been playing you from the moment you met her."

"She doesn' know enough about men for that to be true." Jack started walking again. "An' we're not having this conversation."

"You haven't experienced feminine wiles yet, have you?" The doctor started walking as well, matching Jack's pace without much effort. "Let me guess…you've only been around women that drool over you? Or, at least, that appear to do so. They've all been manipulating you to get what they wanted."

"Sidonia was a virgin, Killian. How would she know how t' manipulate a man that well?" Jack stopped for a moment and looked at the pale man. He couldn't help but be curious. Sidonia was a fine woman. Every time he saw her, he started to think about the future and wondered what it would be like to leave a woman behind at some port. He wasn't seriously thinking about marriage, but Sidonia had a way of making him feel unique.

"She _told_ you she was, Jack. That certainly doesn't mean that it's necessarily true. If you want my professional opinion, everyone lies to protect people. She sees you as someone that can take her from her poverty, so she tries to act in a way pleasing to you. She probably loves some dirt farmer or something."

Jack jerked as his mind processed that thought. Was he being used? There was no doubt in his mind that she enjoyed the presents he brought her, but she really didn't seem to care all that much about it. Unless, of course, she was greedy like the rest of the world. The fact that she had a suitor who owned his own ship was bound to change anybody. "She wouldn' do that," he insisted. How could he be wrong about the innocent way she acted?

"That's what you believe, Jack. Women are the only thing that can stop a man from reaching real happiness in this life. They've vexed us all. You just so happen to have been attracted to an absolute witch in disguise."

Jack looked ready to hit Killian. "Do you 'ave any evidence to support that erroneous claim?"

"Of course I do." Killian glared at his captain. "Perhaps when you realize that I was right about this, you'll know I'm right about the piracy issue. Don't put us in more danger than we are already in, Jack."

"Oh, because we're literally in a lot of danger, aren' we?" He glared right back at the doctor for a few moments. "There's no one threatenin' our lives right now, if ye haven't noticed, an' I haven't decided to turn to piracy or not. I know it's dangerous. Everythin' worthwhile is."

Killian quirked one of his eyebrows, running one of his freakishly pale hands across his cheek. "If you say so, Jack."

"Don' be so bloody condescending." Jack sighed slightly. "I know I'm no' the most experienced man in the world. I know tha' I probably shouldn't have my own ship. But Captain Odell is dead an' he left me in charge. Can I trust you to follow me?"

Killian's face was unmoving for what seemed an eternity as the goats bleated away contentedly and the stars started to shine in the clear night sky, oblivious to the human drama unfolding near them. He then slowly nodded. "You can trust me, Jack."

Jack stared into his companion's eyes and then slowly smiled. "Good. Now, if ye'll excuse me, I was plannin' t' surprise Sidonia."

Killian bowed slightly. "Sorry to have disturbed you."

"Bad habit apologizin' for something you intended on doing," Jack remarked with a slight smirk. "Thank ye for your input, however. I appreciate it." He didn't have to like it to appreciate it. Perhaps Killian was right, perhaps he was moving into territory he shouldn't stray towards. One can never know precisely how one will react in foreign situations. Perhaps Jack would become a terror as a pirate. It was best to stick with what he already knew how to do. "G'bye."

"Goodbye, Captain." Killian looked at Jack for a long while before turning around to head back towards the village. There was to be a grand celebration tonight, thanks to the successful kidding season. The doctor seemed more at ease now than he'd been for quite some time, so Jack really was grateful they'd taken a moment to speak.

The captain watched Killian disappear into the darkness before starting towards his favorite little hovel, unsure of what to exactly make of the exchange. Killian had planted doubt inside his mind. Did he really want to become a pirate? Perhaps it was merely a childhood dream manifesting itself after years of being repressed. He had an entire crew to think about and was already so enamored of the _Wench_ that he couldn't bear the thought of seeing her sink to the depths. Living as a smuggler, while risky, was still safer than denying the existence of all laws to make a living stealing from others in situations similar to the one he was currently in. Besides, Lord Beckett wouldn't finance them if he knew they had engaged in such activities. Pirates were the bane of the Company's existence.

Sighing softly to himself as he reached the hovel, he knocked on the door. Nobody bothered answering it. Slightly puzzled, but not horribly worried, Jack meandered his way towards the field where the goats lived. He hadn't told Sidonia that he was planning to stop by, as he wanted to surprise her with a necklace he'd purchased in town. The necklace had a blue metallic pendant that matched the color of the bead she always wore in her hair. The pendant was adept at catching any light available and reflecting it back, so Jack figured Sidonia would like it. She generally seemed attracted to sparkly items, and the necklace had been less expensive than he thought it would be. How could he put a price on what he felt for her, anyway? She was constantly in his thoughts and the drive to spend time with her was almost overwhelming. Captain Jack Sparrow was starting to realize that he was in love. There was no other way to account for all of his curious feelings towards her.

"_So that's where you got that one," Pearl remarked, glancing over at Jack and pointing to the pendant tied to one of his braids on the right side of his head. It was almost always visible in his hair. "I've always wondered."_

"_Yes." He smiled, pleased to have a woman so beautiful standing so close to him. "That's where I got it. Glad you noticed."_

_She smiled and put her hand down. "The mystery of the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow isn't nearly as exciting as I thought, I must admit."_

"_Well, luv, this period of my life was rather…tame. It gets better in the future, I promise." He smirked, reaching out to touch her cheek. "Especially when you come in'o the picture."_

"_Captain Sparrow," Pearl reprimanded, stepping backwards slightly. "We'll never get this life review of yours finished if you continue to do such things. It makes me tempted to find out what it is you do while breaking the sixth commandment."_

"_Terribly sorry," he replied, though he certainly didn't look it. He wanted to break that commandment, if only to prove that he still could though dead. "Shall we continue?"_

"_Let's." She smiled slightly, turning her attention back to the paused scene before them._

He reached the field and paused in the moonlight, glancing around for any sign of Sidonia. The goats were mostly asleep, exhausted from a day of grazing and existing. All seemed quiet and serene and absolutely perfect. Jack had a hard time getting upset at anything, lately, due to the fact that he now knew a woman he thought to be as close to perfection as anything. He cast aside the doubts Killian had tried to place in his mind and started towards the other end of the field, thinking that Sidonia was there.

He passed an outcropping of rocks and heard a familiar giggle behind one of the larger ones. Thinking Sidonia was with one of her goats, Jack crept behind the rock and slowly started going around it, to catch her unawares. He stopped, however, as soon as he was able to see exactly why she was giggling. Sidonia was in the arms of another man.

"How much has he given you?" The man's voice was familiar, but the words seemed to ring in Jack's ears as the taste of bile filled his mouth and embarrassment colored his face. He couldn't get a clear glimpse of the man, as Sidonia was in the way.

"Not quite enough." Sidonia giggled again before the man kissed her. "Almost, though. I've stolen over thirty doubloons while he was sleeping and he's given me about twelve doubloons worth of ugly trinkets." Her English was nearly flawless. Obviously Jack really had been duped. Anger replaced every other emotion. How could he have been so stupid to develop feelings for a simple woman?

"_Coincidentally, this is when I decided t' not be there in the morning after spending a night wiv a strumpet," Jack interjected, glaring at Sidonia. "Which is why they often get a bi' mad…I do always pay me bill, though."_

"_I suppose that's good?" Pearl looked at Jack and shook her head. "Is this the last woman you let get close to you in anything other than a physical sense?"_

"_No." He grinned. "Of course not. Bu' I wouldn't want t' spoil those stories, now would I?"_

_She shook her head. "I'm sorry you had to come across Sidonia in such a position."_

"_Don't be." He exhaled slowly. "It was better tha' I found out in this point of my life rather than later. I might 'ave really felt the fool if I'd admitted to feeling anything for her."_

"_True." She looked at him sympathetically for a moment as the scene started up again._

"Ah." The man kissed her once more. "Take as much of his money as you can, my love, and I promise we'll go somewhere with richer men in need of a charming female companion." Jack quietly pulled his sabre from his sheath.

"We'd better," she said with a slight pout. "I'd rather seduce a man who actually has power and influence. _Captain_ Jack Sparrow is just an idiot. He'll never amount to anything. Now, then, enough--"

"Beg pardon?" Jack interrupted, his voice cold and mechanical as he pointed the sabre towards the immodest Sidonia. She screamed and pulled away from her companion. The man had a vaguely familiar face, but no name came to mind.

"Jack," Sidonia breathed, her face flushed and her hair a mess. The look in her green eyes was that of utmost surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Jack smiled grimly, his sword still pointed at the woman. "I came to see you, actually."

"You never mentioned--"

"Well, it was going to be a surprise." He smirked. "Well, it still is a surprise, innit?" She nodded, apparently too dumbfounded to do anything else. "I'm interested in knowin'…after you robbed me of all I owned, what were ye goin' t' do?"

She blinked. "I no rob you," she finally answered in the halting English she usually used around him. Her eyes were wide as they adopted a look of innocence. Her companion, likely someone from the village who had moved here to escape the law, shifted uncomfortably away from Sidonia.

He put the tip of the sabre tauntingly close to her throat. "No lies." The look in his eyes was almost powerful enough to pierce. "What were you goin' t' do?"

She rolled her eyes in resignation. "I was just going to leave, Jack, before you awoke one night. Disappeared into thin air."

"Ah." The urge for him to lash out at her for making a fool of him was almost overpowering, but the sword stayed steady. He did not want to live with their blood on his hands, even if he hated feeling so imbecilic. "I see." He stared at her for a moment or two. "I'll be havin' that money back before I go."

Sidonia's face darkened. "No." She was as greedy as the rest of humanity and couldn't contemplate what life would be like without the money she'd taken from the captain.

Jack drew a line on her cheek with the tip of his sword, using just enough pressure to break the skin. "I'll be havin' that money back before I go," he repeated. "Yer certainly not worth what you stole, nor was our time t'gether."

"I don't have the money with me," she protested, putting her hand up to her face to stop the trickle of blood coming from her new wound. She barely even flinched as she did so.

"_You handled this quite well," Pearl remarked proudly. "This is worth some weight on the good end of the scale."_

"_Why?" There was a puzzled look on Jack's face. It was such a rare occurrence to see him look at a woman that way that it almost seemed unnatural._

_Pearl skipped a beat, caught off guard. "You resisted the urge to retaliate and hurt her."_

"_Did you jus' watch what I did?" Jack pointed towards the smear of blood on Sidonia's cheek._

_Pearl looked at it for a brief moment. "Well, yes, you did scratch her…but most men would have given her a thorough beating for being unfaithful."_

"_Pearl, I broke me vow. I hurt a woman."_

"_Would you rather another black mark on your record?"_

_He emphatically shook his head. "No," he added for emphasis.  
_

_Pearl shrugged slightly. "Then stop trying to convince me you handled this situation poorly. You accepted defeat in stride. I'm going to give you credit for that because you need all the help you can get, Jack Sparrow."_

"_Thank you very much, then," Jack said appreciatively, as the scale appeared and more weight was added to the side representing good. The captain was starting to wonder if the scale was more for show than for anything else. It was probably just something to distract him. Pearl seemed to know more than she appeared to. It was almost as though she merely had gaps of information missing, because he doubted that she'd heard so many words properly spoken to speak them herself. Maybe someone was telling her what to do…or maybe he wasn't really dead at all. This could all just be a bizarre dream._

Jack shook his head slightly. "I think ye do. It's probably stashed in yer bodice. A woman like _you_ would not leave money anywhere it might accidentally be found." His words were laced with cynicism. Killian had been absolutely right about Sidonia. Obviously he was right about more than Jack had previously thought.

"I'm not a strumpet, Jack," Sidonia protested, obviously upset by the way she was being insulted. She'd been the smart one, after all, and had played Jack as a complete fool.

"I know. They're much better in bed." He smiled grimly, slowly lowering his sword. "Give me the money."

"I don't have it with me," Sidonia said, a devilish smile spreading across her attractive face. "And you will never have it."

That reaction took Jack by surprise. "What?" he asked curiously before Sidonia's companion hit him in the back of the head with a rock. He managed to blink once before falling forward onto his face and blacking out entirely.


	16. Chapter Fifteen: The Sojourn

Disclaimer: I do not have permission to be writing about Jack Sparrow. Actually, I don't even have permission to use his name…

_Author's Note (12/11/06)_: I've been writing about the infamous Jack Sparrow for three years this very day. Crazy, huh? I can't believe I started posting on fanfiction three years ago today. I never thought I would still be writing by now. Thank you for all of your support over the years. I appreciate all of the reviews I receive. I hope you enjoy this new chapter. The events mentioned within it are based on statements in the _Pirates of the Caribbean Visual Guide_. Here's to three more years of writing!

**Chapter Fifteen: The Sojourn**

The sun certainly seemed overly fond of this vast tract of nearly monochromatic land. The heat rose in waves from the baked sands where hardly any animals dared live. Large dunes glistened in the sunlight as a whisper of a breeze tossed grains of sand into the air towards the next dune. A skink made her way down the slope of a dune, glutted from a rare find of a termite colony. She passed a figure slumped onto the sand at the base of the dune and quietly crawled to the human's shadow, grateful for the brief respite of the sun. Normally she wouldn't be out above the ground in this heat, as it was nearing noon and the sun was nearly directly overhead, but she'd been distracted by the food she'd found.

The man coughed suddenly, startling the skink into action as she quickly burrowed into the sand. With a groan, Jack Sparrow turned to his side in an attempt to breathe easier. Grains of sand were plastered to his cheek, sticking to a mixture of dried sweat, blood, and drool. A dull ache pervaded every whisper of a thought in his mind, drowning them all out with a soft roar. "Ow," he said dryly, trying to make sense of the situation he found himself in. The last thing he could remember clearly was a tent and a woman wearing a veil with smiling brown eyes, nice hips, and a mysterious air about her. He slowly stumbled to his feet, sinking into the burning sands nearly to the lip of his boots as he brushed the sand coating his face away. It seemed as though his whole body was on fire.

"_Wait a moment," Pearl said, glaring at the sand as though this were the memory of someone else and the whole process was malfunctioning. "Weren't you just hit in the head by Sidonia's lover?"_

_Jack glanced around at the new local. "Well…yes, I guess so. Bu' there really wasn' much of a point in continuing the story after that. I woke up wiv a big headache an' discovered that Sidonia was gone. She robbed what I had on me and left Cyprus."_

"_Ah." Pearl looked at the man on the sand, blushing slightly. "Where are you now?"_

"_I'm not entirely sure. Somewhere in Northern Africa, though." He frowned slightly as he glanced up at the sun. "I'd forgotten how bright this place was." He looked over at himself, chuckling. "Ah well. This is one of my interesting journeys tha' I never told anyone."_

"_Why not?"_

"_I never saw an opportune situation to relay it." Jack shrugged slightly. "Seems more boring in the telling than it was experiencing it. Besides, there aren' many people in the Caribbean with a concept of what a desert is."_

"_I suppose that makes sense." She still had pink cheeks as she let silence envelop their conversation._

As far as he could see, Jack was trapped in a sea of sand. Dunes rose and crested in all directions to the horizon. Besides the skink tracks, all he could see was pattern-free sand. The footprints of those that brought him here were long gone, disintegrated by a teasing wind that carried sand to new homes and pulled at his hair. The kohl around his eyes scarcely took out the glare of the sun on the sand. His eyes watered in response, blurring his vision.

The captain's balance shifted, so Jack sat down on the side of the dune with a loud thump to assess the situation. The pain in his legs amplified as he glanced at the position of the sun. It was too close to noon to accurately determine which way was east and which way was west. That meant there was no sense in moving to try to find his way back to the oasis quite yet. Being lost in the desert had hardly been on his agenda for today. They had decided to stop here after leaving Cyprus in a hurry after hearing rumors that a particular village in Morocco sold fine tapestries at an unbelievably low price. The rumors had turned out to be false, but Jack had been able to get a good bargain on a few camels. He hoped to sell them in England as oddities. The aristocracy often got bored with what was available to them and searched for sensational objects or creatures to distinguish them from other members of the aristocracy. Camels seemed ideal to fulfill that want. He'd been sealing the deal with a sheik when he'd spotted that lovely enchantress. Obviously he'd done something offensive by approaching her. The deal with the camels was likely off as well.

The burning sensation from his legs and buttocks soon prompted Jack to stand again. Bewildered, he glanced down. The burning sensation soon made sense as he realized that he was wearing nothing other than his boots. The captain didn't know why his kidnappers would bother leaving the boots on, but he was glad they were still on his feet. At least he could stand without burning from both above and below. Without the boots to guard his feet from the burning sands, the captain imagined he would spontaneously combust from the heat like a piece of tinder.

"Huh. Tha's interesting," he remarked aloud once he realized he was wearing nothing. Sweat glistened all over his body as he tried to find some shade. While the sun would help his overall complexion to become darker, it would also shortly burn him, if it hadn't already. Jack wasn't sure how long he'd been out in the desert so far. How anyone or anything could make a living here was unfathomable.

"_Is that why you seem so tan all over?" Pearl asked as she calmly surveyed Jack in his unclothed glory._

_Jack looked at her and smirked. "My skin did heal, ye know, from this, eventually."_

"_Do you make it a habit of sunbathing in a similar manner?"_

_A mischievous grin was enough of an answer. "How d' ye know if I'm tan _all_ over anyway?" he asked curiously_

_She blushed and looked down at the sand beneath their feet. "Er…well, you know, it's boring to stare at the bottom of the ocean all day long and…." She trailed off._

"_So you used t' watch me undress, is that it?"_

"_Maybe."_

"_How is that even possible? I thought ye were a creation of my mind."_

"_Yes and no. I have some basis in reality, or I wouldn't be here."_

"_You don' make much sense, Pearl."_

"_I shouldn't. I'm from your mind, remember?" She glanced sardonically at the captain and laughed at his expression. "It isn't supposed to make sense, Jack. You're dead. None of this makes sense, remember?"_

_He slowly nodded. "I suppose you're righ'. I figured I'd be in Jones's locker, rather than in the company of the mos' beautiful woman-ship ever conceived."_

_She laughed at the compliment, as it hardly made sense. "I guess your good luck finally caught up with you, huh?"_

"_It's long overdue." He approached her and started to gently caress her cheek. However, due to the lapse in conversation, the scene started moving again before he could make any more overtures._

"This'll make a great story," he muttered sarcastically as he spotted the shadow of a particularly large dune several hundred meters away. The position of the sun made his own shadow scarcely visible. Part of him was tempted to burrow into the sand to escape from the heat like the skink and never move again, but the chances of him being found and rescued were very slight if he did something that incredibly stupid.

Walking through the shifting sands was difficult, as he soon discovered. His boots filled with sand before he reached the small sliver of a shadow. His throat was burning from lack of water, but he knew it would be foolish to wander too far in search of liquids. He wasn't sure where the nearest oasis was and would not be sure until he could see the stars as to whether he'd somehow been transported across the world by magic. Even when he was able to see the stars, it would be difficult to choose _the_ correct direction. He wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve a death sentence, but he hoped it wouldn't be carried out.

The shadow helped slightly, but Jack now understood why it was that the nomads around here wore layers of clothing. No clothes at all made for a most uncomfortable experience, and the fact that he wore leather boots certainly wasn't helping either. As soon as he got away from this accursed desert, he vowed he'd never stop in one again. "No more visits t' Africa," he muttered darkly, hunching next to the dune to get as much relief from the sun as possible.

As he waited for time to pass, the captain heard some curious sounds coming from the other side of the dune. At first, he thought he was imagining the low groans of pain, but they soon got louder and he could have sworn he heard somebody curse a woman's mother for even thinking of conceiving a child. His curiosity got the best of him, so Jack carefully stood and then crept around the dune. To his delight, his first mate was sitting on the sand with a black eye and several cuts and bruises. Keaton was wearing everything but his shirt. The man's eyes lit up when he saw Jack. "Captain! You're—" Keaton suddenly looked quite awkward and slightly embarrassed at the sight of Jack in nothing. "Oh."

"How did ye get here, Keaton?" Jack asked, ignoring the awkwardness of the situation. He couldn't do anything to change the fact that he was only wearing his boots. Besides, there wasn't anything for him to be embarrassed over. He was quite proud of what he had.

"I reckon the same way you did, sir." Keaton studiously looked to Jack's side. "There were at least fifty men who dragged us out of the tent and then brought us here." A proud smile appeared on his face. "I managed to fight them off me. I imagine the ones dealing with you left at the same time, which is why you're wearing only your boots."

Jack absorbed that tidbit for a moment, looking down and moving his eyes back and forth as though he were reading a page. He looked up again. "Do you know what way they came?"

Keaton nodded. "Aye, sir. I was conscious for most of it. They gave you a rather nasty hit to the back of the head."

"Of course they did." Jack scowled slightly and then sighed. "Well, which direction did they come from, then?"

Keaton pointed towards the way his feet were pointing. "That way, sir, I'd bet my life on it."

"Ah." Jack looked off in that direction for a moment and then looked back at his first mate. "If there were fifty men, how did ye fight them off enough t' retain most of your clothes?"

Keaton looked slightly flustered as he shrugged. "I guess I'm stronger than one would think."

Jack carefully scrutinized his first mate's physique and then slowly nodded. "I guess so," he agreed. Motioning to the other side of the dune, he said, "Come along, then. Le's get you out of the sun before you burn too badly."

Keaton seemed somewhat apprehensive about moving. He'd been marking the direction that they'd come from for so long that he thought if he moved they wouldn't be able to find them. "Sir, wouldn't it be best for one of us to stay on this side?"

"No." Jack glanced in the direction the men had traveled. "Relax, I'll be able t' remember which way to go. Call it my innate navigation skills."

"I'd rather wait until after noon."

"Suit yourself," Jack said with a slight shrug. He turned and started walking towards the other side of the dune, but stopped and looked at his first mate again. "Are you alright?" he asked softly. "Looks as though ye've been given a nice beating."

"Don't worry about me, Captain." Keaton smiled slightly. "I feel fine. It isn't too painful."

"Right." Jack looked at his first mate for a few moments more before he went over to his side of the sand dune. Once they got moving, he had a feeling that he wouldn't want to speak anymore. The sun and heat was drawing what little moisture he had left inside his body out.

"_Keaton was a very loyal first mate," Jack said contemplatively, surprised to find himself so close to Pearl. He'd been wrapped up in the memory and had forgotten that Pearl even existed. That was what happened almost every time the scene started up again, unless he said something. Overall, this experience was bewildering. Logic didn't seem to apply to anything anymore._

"_He seems like it," Pearl agreed. "Very self-sacrificing for you, as well." She smiled at him teasingly. "It looks like devotion to me."_

"_I am quite good at attracting both genders," Jack remarked with a conceited smile. He glanced at his former first mate. "Of course, I think he was devoted to me because 'e thought I was a good captain."_

"_Or he was anxious to please you." Pearl frowned slightly. "Many people we think are devoted are really trying to further themselves."_

"_He wouldn't do that," Jack protested. "He was a good man."_

_Pearl quirked an eyebrow at him. "I like how you protect him," she remarked finally. "How do you know I don't know his true character?"_

"_Because you never met the man. 'E was soft-spoken, t' be certain, but I could always rely on him." He smirked at her. "I think yer jus' trying to distract me."  
_

"_Now, Captain Sparrow, why would I do that?"_

"_You're afraid of me charms." He was very close to her, watching her every response anxiously._

"_Hardly." She smiled bewitchingly. "We don't have time for this now, Jack." She pushed him away._

"_Tha's not very nice," he grumbled. "At all."_

It seemed to take an eternity for dusk to come. As long shadows descended over the rolling sand dunes, Jack stood and went to the east side of the dune. Keaton was still merely sitting there, though he had ceased moaning after an hour or so. He was staring at the direction his legs were pointed, looking somewhat dazed. Some of the sand near him was stained crimson.

"Ready t' go?" Jack asked, desperately trying to wet his lips. He felt as though he'd spent the afternoon licking the dune.

"Yes sir." Keaton rolled over and carefully stood away from the mark in the sand toward freedom. "I believe it will take us two or three days to reach the oasis. We're on foot and they were on camels."

"Ah." That news hit Jack like a feeding shark going after a wounded seal. He didn't know if he could stand the heat for three days. "No time t' waste, then."

Keaton nodded. "Will you be able to remember which way to go?"

"So long as we travel by night an' rest by day, aye." Jack smiled reassuringly, cracking his dried lips. "We'll be fine." He just had to hope that Keaton's memory wasn't faulty. If it was…they were both as good as dead.

Keaton walked right up next to the imprint of his legs and started in a straight line from there. Now that he was up and moving, Jack could see a nasty cut on the man's back. Keaton would likely develop an infection from it. "Do ye happen t' have any spare cloth? Jack queried as he fell in to step next to his first mate.

"No." Keaton glanced at Jack quizzically. "Why?"

"Jus' wonderin'." Jack shrugged. He wanted to tend to Keaton's injury, but there didn't seem any way to do that. Not only were there no bandages, but Jack wouldn't be able to do anything but brush at the sand. That would only succeed in ripping the scab off and would result in Keaton losing more blood. This was going to be a very long journey.

After a night of walking, Keaton and Jack stopped between two large dunes. Jack contemplated burrowing into the sand like the skink, but Keaton fell asleep before he could suggest it. The first mate looked exhausted, and Jack wasn't particularly keen on leaving him without any supervision throughout the nights, so Jack made himself as comfortable as possible while trying to steal snatches of sleep. He wasn't very successful in his endeavors. After a miserable afternoon trying not to sweat to death while checking to see if Keaton was still breathing, the stars started to come out.

Anxious to get to water and civilization, Jack gently shook Keaton's shoulder. The man's eyes slowly fluttered open. They seemed rather empty, but recognition came as he stared up at Jack. He slowly sat up. Hiding in the sand near where Keaton's shoulder had been was a peculiar creature with eight legs, two claws, and a large, bulbous tail with some sort of stinger attached to the top. When the creature was spotted, the tail came up, apparently preparing to attack. Jack tilted his head in curiosity, trying to remember why it looked so familiar and foreign at the same time. "Oh." Alarm clouded his eyes as he grabbed Keaton's leather hat and placed it on top of the creature. It was nearly the size of his hand. "Those things are poisonous."

Keaton stared at his hat, frowning. "What is it?"

"I can't remember the name, bu' one of the men a' the oasis was talking about these nasty buggers." He flinched. "They can kill a man if they sting 'im."

"Huh." Keaton futilely licked his lips. "How can such a creature survive here?"

"Dunno." Jack smirked halfway, ignoring the shooting pain from his cracked lips. "We could eat it, though."

"Eat it?"

"Would ye rather a nice plate of sand wiv a side of sand, a nice tall glass of sand followed by sand surprise?"

Keaton shook his head. "Of course not."

"Well, then, le's eat it." He slowly pulled the hat up. The arachnid had calmed. Before it could adjust to the change in light, Jack grabbed it by the tail and pulled the part of the tail with the stinger off. He tossed it to the ground. The insides of the scorpion looked a bit gooey as Jack broke off the pincers. Once the creature was dead, he broke it in half and gave the larger part to his companion.

"It looks good," he lied, before tossing his half into his mouth. The taste was mitigated by sand that was trapped inside his mouth, but it wasn't too horribly disgusting. Swallowing it was difficult, but only because of his dry throat. "Not too bad," he remarked as Keaton stared at his half of the creature. "Bit crunchy."

"_That's disgusting." Pearl winced at the sight of some of the exoskeleton hanging to Jack's lip. "How could you eat that?"_

"_If I hadn't eaten it, I likely would've died," Jack said with a slight shrug. "Not the wors' thing I've put in my mouth an' digested, I must admit."_

_She shuddered. "Well…it was nice of you to give Keaton the larger half."_

"_What can I say? Me crew comes first."_

_She smiled and nodded. "Of course." A small glowing sphere appeared along with the scales. It scarcely added to the weight of good, but Jack wasn't about to complain._

Keaton slowly placed his half in his mouth and ate it as quickly as he possibly could. Once it was swallowed, he looked somewhat ill. His face was greenish, but he did not throw up. The small morsel of food was too necessary for his strength for him to do such a thing.

"Ye ready t' go, then? Jack asked, warily eyeing his companion just in case he did throw up all over the sand.

"If I must." Keaton struggled up onto his feet. "Only two more days, right?" He looked ready to collapse, but started following Jack once he started walking.

By the evening of the third day, Keaton was in horrible condition. Infection attacked the cut on his back. Every time he moved too strenuously, globs of pus squirted from his back. He was very obviously in constant pain while moving and suffering from a fever while sleeping. Jack could scarcely imagine what Hell his first mate was going through. He sat next to Keaton, wishing there were something he could do for the man. Unfortunately, short of cutting himself and letting Keaton drink his blood, there was nothing that could be done. The captain was hardly in a better position himself. His skin was burned to the point that it would soon harbor infection. His skin was far drier than he'd ever imagined possible. His strength was failing him. They hadn't seen any other wildlife in their journeys and he doubted they would any longer.

As the sun set, Jack leaned over Keaton's shaking body. "Keaton," he said softly. "We've got t' keep moving. Jus' a little further. I can almost smell the water." He'd often heard tales of people smelling water like animals after being deprived of it for quite a while. He was desperate to keep Keaton from merely giving up.

Keaton moaned softly, sounding very much like a dying man. "I can't," he said softly. The skin around his mouth was horribly chapped. With every new word, blood escaped from beneath the skin. "I'm dying, Jack."

"Of course not," Jack lied easily. "Come on, Keaton. Jus' a few more sand dunes an' I'm sure we'll find some water."

"I don't have a few more left in me." Keaton opened his eyes to look at his captain. It was as though he no longer had a soul. Jack couldn't see a hint of the normal Keaton in them. "Jack…give my effects to my sister, in Southampton. You can keep the hat, if you'd like, but she needs some of what I have. She's lonely, thinking of going into a convent." He moaned softly, obviously having a hard time speaking. Dehydration, amplified by the man's blood loss, was taking its toll on him. His nose was bleeding and his eyes were sunken into his face. If he didn't get any water soon, he would most certainly die.

Jack frowned at his first mate and then slowly took Keaton's hat. During their sojourn, the dark leather had been bleached a lighter color. "Fine," he said with a slight frown. "I can do tha'. You just stay here."

Keaton's eyes widened, but he said nothing. He had been expecting Jack to force him to stand. Then again, he was likely in worse straits than even he believed. "Thanks."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Don' thank me for leaving ye behind, Keaton. It isn't an act o' mercy." He slowly stood up and stumbled towards his final destination. "If I find water, I'll be back. If not…ye were a fine officer, Keaton."

"Thank you, sir." Keaton's response made Jack inexplicably angry. It wasn't worth it for him to get upset, though. He was the one that was going to survive this, no matter what happened. Keaton was as good as dead and he'd already resigned himself to that fact. How could someone give up on life so easily?

Jack put the leather hat atop his head and then started walking toward the next dune. Each step seemed to sap his energy away exponentially, but he persevered and fell into a regular rhythm.

"_You just left him?" Pearl asked, sounding upset. "After all you'd been through together?"_

_Jack frowned as he looked at his companion. "Pearl, look at him." He pointed towards Keaton. It was very obvious to the outside observer that he wouldn't survive. "I was in no condition t' carry him on my back. That sort of heroics is stupid."_

"_But you could have—"_

"_Pearl, I was very near to death meself. I wasn't thinking clearly. An' Keaton had already squared wiv God the fact that he wouldn't see his sister again. I did what I had t'. If I'd carried him…I would've died too."_

_Pearl nodded slightly, clearly not all that pleased with what he'd done, but understanding. "Oh."_

_For some reason, Jack couldn't help but feel as though he'd made a bad choice. He hated seeing Pearl disappointed in him. It stung far more than it should. "Pearl, if there had been any other way..."_

"_I understand," she said softly. "Really, I do. Sacrifices must be made." She sighed softly, looking at Keaton's sorry figure. "Poor man."_

Three dunes after leaving Keaton, Jack spotted a palm tree and grass. He wasn't entirely sure if he believed his own eyes, but the relief at seeing a pool of water next to the tree brought him to his knees. He crawled the rest of the distance, taking the hat off and filling it to the brim with water.

He cautiously lifted the hat to his lips and tilted it, tasting of the water. It was sweet and delicious and didn't turn into sand as he swallowed it. The feeling of cold water running down his throat was rejuvenating. He could scarcely believe he'd made it to salvation.

Greedily, he drained the hat and then drank another hatful full. Once his thirst was slaked, he filled the hat a third time and started back towards Keaton. There was a small possibility of saving his first mate's life with the precious commodity in his hands. He walked as quickly as he could manage without spilling the water.

He found Keaton in the same position he'd left the man. "I've got water!" he announced excitedly, expecting his first mate to react favorably. Keaton gave no reaction to having heard anything. As Jack approached Keaton's body, he realized that the man was not breathing any longer. The infection, coupled with the loss of blood and the lack of water, had killed Keaton.

Jack felt curiously aware of the stars in the sky above twinkling as he stopped and looked at his most faithful crewman. He didn't know what to do with the body. Though he'd found water, he had no way to store it and no one knew where to look for him, so he couldn't very well just stay near the oasis. He couldn't carry Keaton all the way to the village. Jack just didn't have the strength left in his body to do such an arduous task. If he were to do something like that, he would die as well. There seemed to be no easy solution. Should he desecrate the corpse and take Keaton's trousers in order to protect his legs from the scorching sun?

Sighing softly, he drank the rest of the water in his new hat and then placed it atop his head. "Sorry, mate," he said softly. "You were a good man. Deserve a decent funeral. If I had a shovel…." He trailed off and closed Keaton's unseeing eyes. "Thanks for the hat. I'll hold onto it for ye, I promise. An' I'll visit your sister." He put the man's hands across his chest in a dignified pose and then stood.

A wave of heat from the sunburn on his upper thighs prompted him to lean back down. "I really don' want to do this, but…."

"_You stole his trousers?"_

"_He was dead! Keaton certainly din' need them."_

"_Jack…" Pearl seemed at a loss for words. "His trousers?"_

"_It was uncomfortably warm in me nether regions. I'll have you know it took months before all me skin was entirely healed." He frowned slightly. "Of course, the trousers made it uncomfortable, too. They rubbed against me burns and made walking miserable."_

"_You deserved it," Pearl said somewhat coldly. "Stealing a dead man's _trousers_?"_

"_I've done worse things, luv." He smirked slightly. "I'm sure Keaton din' mind that I took them."_

_She shook her head. "I can't believe you."_

"_Why not?" He smirked slightly. "I thought you came from me head."_

"_You stole what little dignity Keaton had just for your own comfort." She shook her head again. "That was despicable."_

_Jack sighed softly. "Yes, it was. I wasn' in a place to make many choices. I'd like t' see what you'd do trapped in an ocean of fire."_

"_I suppose you're right," she said grudgingly. The scale, thankfully, remained in the same position it had been before. Jack was relieved, as he'd been sure that she'd mark it against him._

It took Jack another three nights of traveling to reach the nearest community. He arrived on the brink of exhaustion and fainted shortly after someone spotted him and started to come and assist him. Fortunately, it was a different sheik's home, so he wasn't in danger of being sent on another foray into the desert. In a stroke of good luck, it also happened to be near the port where the _Wench_ was waiting. Jack could scarcely move due to his extensive burns from the sun all over his body and was housed in one of the larger tents as someone was sent for a member of Jack's crew. The hospitality of these nomads was extreme and unexpected. Jack knew he would never be able to adequately thank them.


	17. Chapter Sixteen: The Promptings

Disclaimer: I don't have permission to be using these characters.

_Author's Note (1/14/07)_: Sorry for the long delay between chapters. I could give you a list of reasons, but that still doesn't make up for the fact that I didn't update… I hope to get back onto a more regular schedule of posting. The next chapter should be interesting, to say the least. Thank you one and all for all the support I've been having throughout this process.

**Chapter Sixteen: The Promptings**

The Beckett estate would never be called homely. Garish was a far better description of their choice in decorations. The shrubbery lining the street leading up to the estate was supposed to be in the shape of a dragon, which happened to be on the family crest, but Jack personally thought it resembled a slug surrounded by salt with a very large tail. It was hardly the fearsome sort of creature one would expect to find decorating the home of someone as proud as Lord Fabian Beckett and his sons. The lawn, though well manicured, seemed to be dying in several places due to some sort of creeping insect. The flowers seemed pale and the knocker on the door was just absurd. Inside of the house wasn't much better.

A rather timid maid greeted Jack with a slight smile and a drop of a curtsy after the captain knocked on the door. Jack smirked back, obviously intrigued by her voluptuous figure and pretty face. Her small smile was enough to make him forget about his surroundings and their inability to resemble something tastefully decorated. He didn't know why he'd thought it tasteful before. He must have been hit harder on the head than he remembered. "'Lo," he greeted. "I'm here t' see Lord Beckett." She nodded and then started down a hallway. He followed.

As Jack was escorted to a study to meet with his beneficiary, he got a glimpse of furniture he'd missed his last visit due to the fact that he'd hit his head several times and that they'd all been covered with white cloths while the Becketts were in India. Whoever had picked them out seemed to have an abnormal amount of respect for the color peach. Through years of being displayed, the peach had faded into a color reminiscent of the sort of thing one avoided walking in on the street. Their fortune had been wasted by someone with a knack for the concepts of design on par with a herring. The place screamed new money, though the title of lord had been in the family for generations. The aristocratic Becketts had produced a lot of lackluster examples of good breeding. It was no wonder that the youngest son, Cutler, was out to get as much notoriety as he possibly could. Someone had to make up for the pitfalls of earlier generations. As with many aristocratic families, they likely didn't have as much of a fortune as one would expect.

He sat down on one of the upholstered peach chairs across from the desk he could vaguely remember from his last visit to the place. The maid paused for a moment or two, clearly intrigued by the handsome young visitor to the place. "If there's anythin' you need, sir, anythin' at all, I'll be happy to assist ye," she said rather boldly.

Jack smiled at her and nodded appreciatively. "I will certainly keep tha' in mind, luv. Do you have a name?"

"Carolyn," she responded brightly, clearly unused to someone giving her attention. She was just a maid, after all. While she wasn't as low on the social ladder as a scullery maid, she still had several levels of superiors to report to. The Beckett family generally pretended that she was invisible, never bothering to even insincerely thank her for her efforts.

The smirk returned, followed by a mischievous sparkle in his dark eyes. The mysteriousness of Captain Jack Sparrow was clearly having an impact on the lovely young maid. He seemed so different in comparison to other men in London that he always had at least one set of eyes on him in the company of the fairer sex. "Tha's a lovely name. Hardly suits ye, though."

Carolyn blinked a few times, stammering through body language her confusion. "Beg pardon?" she finally spluttered.

Jack looked faintly amused, especially because he knew that she was merely confused and not upset by what he'd said. It could be taken as quite an insult. "Carolyn is a lovely name an' you are a beautiful woman. Doesn't quite add up."

"Oh, well…thank you." Curiosity and excitement sparkled in her blue eyes like the sea on a sunny day. "I had no choice in me name." She was obviously warming up to the idea of flirting with Jack, though he was of a different social caste than she. That much had been obvious the first moment she'd opened the door. Though he had an odd walk resembling that of a drunkard's, he carried himself around with enough pride that he seemed to come from an aristocratic family. There were subtle, silent clues that kept the gentry from mixing with the commoners that had been put into place centuries before used to make generalizations and judgments in a split second. Jack's openness and obvious flattery was unexpected and very welcome. If he was willing to break the unwritten rules of society, she was very willing to do the same thing.

Jack nodded slightly. "It's unfortunate, innit? I personally think tha' children should choose their own name." He motioned for her to come over to him. She promptly did so. He took her hand in his. "Where are we from, Carolyn?"

"Near Southampton, sir." Jack could feel her pulse quicken the moment he took her hand.

She probably didn't realize how beautiful she truly was. Sure, she wasn't a perfect specimen of a woman, but hardly anyone was. The fact that she had scars from a bout of smallpox was negligible. Her eyes were lively and her nose was perfectly formed. "Jack. Call me Jack," he corrected softly.

"Sorry, sir." She smiled uncomfortably. "I mean… Jack."

"No worries." He slowly brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it. "Do you enjoy Southampton? I've some business there t' attend to."

"Uhhh…'s just spiffing," Carolyn responded, very distracted by his actions.

"Good," he responded, kissing her hand again. She seemed to be melting like snow in his hands. "Very good." He was about to pull her down onto his lap when he heard footsteps near the doorway. Instantly, though regretfully, he let go of her hand. "Sorry, luv. Time for business rather than pleasure," he apologized. She looked distinctly disappointed as she straightened her skirts with her hands. "Maybe later."

_Pearl glanced over at Jack critically, obviously upset by the scene in front of her. "Why are you so obsessed with wooing women?"_

_Jack blinked a few times, turning slightly as he looked at his fair companion. "Good question," he said, at a loss for an answer._

_She shook her head and stepped a half foot away from him. "Did you woo her?"_

"_Who?"_

_She pointed towards Carolyn._

_He shook his head. "I forgot about her, truthfully. Women…" He shrugged. "I don' know how to explain it. I jus' want to give them a hope for a better life."_

"_Even if it ultimately means smashing their dreams?"_

"_Yes." He sighed softly, wondering if, perhaps, he should have stayed away from all the women he'd had over his life. If she was trying to make him feel guilty, the look in her eyes was more than enough to do that. It mattered what she thought. If, in fact, he did make it back…it would be something to keep in mind._

Carolyn's eyes widened at the prospect, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she curtseyed again and looked down at her hands. She was clearly disappointed. The door opened a moment later.

"I'm quite sorry for keeping you waiting all this time," Cutler Beckett apologized as he stepped into the small room Jack was waiting in. "Some business came up that lamentably could not be avoided." Carolyn quickly escaped before she was noticed by the master's son.

Jack looked at the man curiously as Carolyn shut the door behind her. "Where's Lord Beckett?" he asked suspiciously. The way that Beckett had married just to further his career bothered the captain. He didn't trust the oily young man with eyebrows that never moved.

Beckett looked as though he'd smelled something rancid. "My father is ill and is unable to keep this particular appointment." His eyes almost dared Jack to question him further on the subject. Jack said nothing, so Beckett calmly took a seat across from where Jack was sitting, looking horribly out of place. The back of the chair extended a foot above his head, emphasizing the man's small stature, though Beckett was clearly trying to compensate by sitting as straight as humanly possible. "Thank you for disposing of our unmentionable cargo." He leaned forward and extended his hand toward the young captain. "It would have caused quite the stir amongst my associates."

Jack quirked an eyebrow. If he remembered correctly, the cargo that the Becketts had commissioned the _Wicked Wench_ and her crew to smuggle out had been relatively harmless spices. Then again, that could have been a ruse for some sort of drug that was illegal or something. "It was no problem. We ran into no complications." He cautiously shook the man's hand.

"Ah, good." Cutler looked distinctly pleased, but his eyebrows remained motionless. "Is Captain Odell elsewhere, or has he selected you to carry out his business negotiations?"

"He's dead," Jack said bluntly, a haunted look flitting across his eyes. If it hadn't been for his ineptitude with a sword, he would still be around. Captain Odell was a great mentor, as was Keaton. Jack had promoted Tannar to the position of first mate to compensate for the loss of that man during the voyage back to England. "We were attacked by pirates in the Mediterranean. I was selected t' be his successor."

Beckett looked vaguely puzzled as he leaned back into his seat. "I thought you said there were no complications."

"They weren't able to get the cargo," Jack explained, trying to keep an annoyed tone out of his voice. He vastly preferred to speak to Lord Beckett. "In regards to your business, there were no complications at all involved. All of the cargo is gone.

"How much of a profit did you make on the venture?" Beckett was unable to disguise the greed behind his eyes.

"A decent amount. I've put your cut in'o the bank account set up for the purpose." It didn't matter that the captain hadn't specifically put in forty percent of their profit. Only half the cargo they'd sold in Cyprus and elsewhere had originally belonged to the Becketts anyway. It was closer to twenty percent, but it would be enough to keep Cutler and his father happy. They would never know, after all.

Beckett nodded, obviously satisfied with the answer. "Thank you for disposing of it so quickly, Captain Sparrow. We didn't expect your return for another few months, at least. After all, you are free to come and go as you please." Beckett didn't look thrilled by the idea.

"There really wasn' anything else pressing that needed to be taken care of," Jack replied with a shrug. "Is there anything else tha' you need me to make disappear in the near future?"

Beckett was thoughtful for a moment. "How long are you intending to stay here, Captain Sparrow?"

The captain shrugged noncommittally. All he personally needed to do was visit Southampton to meet with Keaton's sister as he'd promised. "As long as necessary. The crew need a bi' of a break. Many of them are retiring. Captain Odell was a great man an' the troubles gave them a bit of a scare."

"Do you have many plans for this particular visit?" the man pressed, looking suddenly quite intrigued.

Jack tried to not reach over the desk to force the man's eyebrows to move as he slowly shook his head. "I'll probably end up wasting mos' of my share at a tavern somewhere. Why?"

Beckett sat up straighter in the chair, trying to seem unenthused about what he was about to propose. It was impossible for him to mask the slight fluctuation in his voice that developed whenever he was excited for something. "I have a proposal for you to take into consideration."

"As long as it isn't that of marriage, I'd be more than happy t' consider it," Jack quipped after a slight pause in Beckett's speech. He smirked at the shocked look in Beckett's eyes.

Beckett paused for a few moments before deciding to merely gloss over Jack's attempt at a joke. "I have some business to be conducted with a bishop currently staying in a parish with a vicar in Southampton."

Beckett paused again, leaving Jack somewhat frustrated. He knew that the man was trying to manipulate him into asking the "correct" questions. Jack preferred to be hit with his information hard or not at all. It was fine by him for him to just come to a conclusion. "And?" he asked, his voice tinged with slight annoyance.

"It's of a very sensitive nature, Captain, and I would appreciate the utmost discretion. I would go myself, but if it were known that we have business together, it would be quite detrimental to us both."

Another pause. Curiosity got the best of the captain. "What sort of arrangement have you worked out wiv him?"

Beckett's mouth merely twitched up into a smile. "I have a letter that needs to be delivered as soon as possible. I will make it worth your effort, Captain Sparrow."

Jack calmly looked at the man for a moment and then slowly nodded. "Will you be expecting a reply?"

Beckett nodded. "That is why I need you to infiltrate the clergy around there, to await his reply. It is quite important that I learn what he wants me to do. I will procure some proper vestments for you to go undetected. You will be able to stay at the parish. As long as you keep mostly to yourself in 'quiet meditation', I believe you will go unnoticed. Do we have an agreement?"

The siren call of impersonating someone was far too much for Jack to refuse. "We do," he announced. "I'll deliver the letter an' wait for a response."

"_Is this a black mark?" Jack asked curiously, glancing at Pearl. "Pretending t' be holy?"_

_She nodded slowly. "Yes. It's a black mark many men and women have. There's a difference between pretending to be righteous in order to gain recognition, which is what happens sometimes, and being righteous."_

"_Ah." He frowned slightly. "Well…" He trailed off for a moment, smirking in remembrance of whatever it was he'd done while impersonating a member of the clergy of the Church of England._

"_I suppose we'll shortly be adding more black marks to the scale," Pearl said with a soft laugh. He nodded and she merely shook her head._

Beckett looked distinctly pleased as he reached into his desk and pulled out a letter. "I will deliver this with the vestments later tonight. If he refuses to send an answer, find an inconspicuous way to send him to his God."

Jack prayed that the bishop would give an answer. "Yes, sir," he said, slowly standing. "I'll be stayin' at the _Dancing Dame_ in town." Jack wasn't sure if he trusted any of the other taverns in London.

"Very good." Beckett slowly stood up, setting the letter down on the desk. "This will be a most profitable arrangement, Captain Sparrow. Thank you for your skill in disposing of things discretely." He bowed toward the captain, who merely nodded at his employer. "If you'll excuse me, I've some other important business to attend to."

"I can see meself out." Southampton certainly sounded as though it was to be an adventure. Jack stepped out of the small room and then guided himself through the hallways, completely forgetting about Carolyn's offer as he stepped out of the front door. It seemed as though Fate were trying to get him to Southampton. Something monumental was going to happen there, he knew it. Whistling a sea shanty, he walked down the pathway leading to the estate and then entered London proper. He wanted to reach the pub before dark, for the captain knew better now than to blindly trust the citizens of the great city of London. The stark contrast between the aristocratic lords and the common peasantry was still very apparent.

Jack meandered his way down a crowded street as various carts and carriages tried to pick their way from one end of the bustling city to another. A wealthy man with his head covered in a brown wig followed by a woman holding the hand of a young girl, approximately four or five, with brown hair and eyes to match pushed their way through the masses. One of his other servants walked ahead, doing as much crowd control as possible. Some captains chose to have the same sort of fanfare as they embarked on a voyage. Jack thought it was silly to stand on so much ceremony. It only made one a larger target for ridicule.

"_Wait a moment!" Jack exclaimed, moving forward through the people in his midst. He passed through them as though they were clouds. He paused near the wealthy man dressed in dark mourning clothes. "That's Governor Swann," he remarked to himself, dumbfounded.  
__  
"Yes, it is," Pearl agreed, stepping near the little girl. She looked absolutely adorable, though saddened._

"_An' that's Elizabeth!" he exclaimed, whirling about on one foot to get a better look at the little girl. He could clearly see Elizabeth's adult features in the child. She had large brown eyes and flawless skin. Her hair was done in ringlets. She was dressed in dark mourning clothes, as was her nanny. The implication of all this was astounding. Jack had kissed a woman he'd seen over a decade previously as a little girl. It was also somewhat disturbing that he was old enough to be her father._

_Memories of and pertaining to Elizabeth flooded his mind as he looked at the little girl. "The world is awfully small, isn't it?" Pearl asked rhetorically, putting her hand on his shoulder._

_He nodded mutely, lapsing into silence as he just stared at Elizabeth._

He shook his head slightly as he watched the spectacle, running into a beautiful young woman going about and doing some shopping as his legs continued to move forward. He turned to face her, his eyebrow quirking in approval as he murmured, "Terribly sorry, luv. Din' mean to hit you."

The young woman looked at him angrily for a moment before brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Her blue eyes quickly cleared, much like the clouds on a stormy day. "Forget it," she said dismissively, preparing to step away from the odd man in front of her. She stopped, however, and put her hand on his arm. "Do I know you?"

He half-smirked as he looked at her face in more detail. She had high cheekbones and a nearly symmetrical face. There was something vaguely familiar about her, some facet of her voice that sounded like something he'd heard before. And the eyes…he could almost bet a doubloon on the fact that he'd seen her eyes before. "I doubt tha', luv. I haven't been in London for over a year. I'd like t' get to know you better, though."

She laughed and then looked all the more puzzled, blinking several times in rapid succession before shrugging. Something about the way he was speaking was horribly wrong and familiar. She started to walk away again, but stopped as though she were connected by an invisible line to the man. "Have you ever been to the Caribbean?" she asked cautiously.

He smiled and nodded as images of his youth instantly came to mind. "Aye, luv. I'm from the Caribbean. Why? Want to go on holiday there?" He enjoyed the climate in the Caribbean far more than that of England. Once Beckett was done asking for favors, he planned to head back and find out a few things about his family.

She smiled slightly and shook her head, a light of near-recognition in her eyes. "No, no thank you. May I inquire as to your name, sir?"

"Of course, milady," Jack said with a slight bite of sarcasm to his voice as he took her hand and gallantly kissed it. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, at yer service."

The young woman looked as though she'd been hit by a runaway carriage. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped as her mind obviously put the pieces of the puzzle together. "John?" she asked, her voice quavering like someone's arm after holding something very heavy as far away from their body as possible for as long as possible.

Jack tilted his head, trying to figure out how someone in London would know his real name. She was too young to be any of his sister's nannies, and she most certainly wasn't his mother… "Martha?" he asked, feeling as though he'd just been keelhauled.

She smiled and then enveloped her brother in a large hug. "John! I've been so worried about you." Her eyes were glistening with tears as she pulled away and then hit him on the shoulder. "Why didn't you write?"

"Uh…" Jack looked at his sister for a moment, stalling. It had never crossed his mind to write to her. "Why didn't you?" he countered, grinning.

"I had no idea where you were," she protested. "Besides, it's always the responsibility of the one who goes away to write the one who is stuck at home for another absolutely miserable five years."

He shrugged slightly. "I'm sorry, Martha. I got busy learning how t' be a real navigator…an' then there was India and…" He trailed off. "I'm sorry I lef' you wivout a goodbye. Father sent me off wiv the Company."

"And you're captain already?" She sounded terribly impressed. He was only twenty-four, after all, and people weren't promoted to be captain until their mid-thirties, on average.

"I am," he replied, grinning broadly. "What have you been up t', little sister?"

She smiled and looked down at the ground for a moment, suddenly quite shy. Her soft pale cheeks reddened. "I'm married now to John Dandridge. We're planning to move to Virginia with his brother William to start a family next week."

"Strangely fortunate tha' I ran across you now, then," Jack remarked, trying not to look too horribly dismayed to hear her married. After all, when he left, she had no choice but to learn to fit into society. "How long have you been married?"

"Only a few months." That would explain why she was blushing so much. After all, she was a nice, chaste girl and had never heard of what happened after a woman married a man until the night before her wedding, likely.

"I wish ye happiness, then," he said gently, though he doubted such a thing was possible. After all, their parents had fallen out of love quite quickly after he'd been born. "Is Mum around?"

Martha shook her head. "No. She couldn't make it to my wedding. We've apparently got a new little sister or something…father was quite hazy on the details. He left about a week ago."

"Good," Jack muttered. He had no inclination to see his father, really. After all, he'd abandoned the name he'd been so lovingly given by his mother and father. He wanted nothing to do with it again. He had his own name and reputation to build up now. "Where are you off to?"

"I've a few things I still need to pick up before I leave," Martha responded with a shrug. "Just normal shopping, really. We're not entirely sure what we'll find in Virginia." She smiled as she looked at her older brother respectfully. "Have you any idea?" He always seemed to know the answer to everything while they were growing up.

Jack shook his head quickly. "I've been in the Orient. Haven't got the foggiest clue wha' the Colonies are like." Seeing the dismayed look in her face, he figured it wouldn't hurt for him to make up a few things. "Of course, my first mate comes from Jamestown. He said that they're quite lovely. Plenty of open spaces an' lots of opportunities t' get wealthy. A tobacco plantation would likely be yer bes' bet, if you're out to get rich. Fairly nice climate. Certainly not the Caribbean, but it isn't England, neither." Jack actually wasn't sure where Tannar was from, but it certainly wasn't Virginia. He was just propagating some of the rumors he'd heard as a child. There was no need for him to mention the supposed savages, either.

Martha looked quite relieved, as though hearing the plug from Jack made everything better. "Ah. I do believe that's what my husband plans on going into: Tobacco. I suppose it won't dominate the market forever, though."

"Nothing does," Jack said dismissively with a shrug. It was very clear he was getting bored with the conversation. Martha very clearly wasn't who she used to be, just like he wasn't who he used to be. He had a few things to get packed before heading to Southampton to meet whatever Destiny had in store for him.

Martha seemed to sense that she was losing him. "Have you heard that they've captured a pirate in Southampton?" she asked curiously.

That was more than enough to pique his interest. "Who?"

"I'm not entirely sure. To be honest, I thought it was you. The rumors say it's a man named Teague."

"_What's this about?" Pearl asked curiously._

_Jack was still in a stupor of thought as he tried to push Elizabeth from his mind. The governor's daughter had made more of an impact in there than anyone but he was aware of. "Huh?"_

"_This pirate named Teague."_

_Jack blinked and then focused on Pearl, not able to tell she was merely trying to distract him from his thoughts. "Oh. Well, I suppose we'll find out about that shortly. Made a large impact on me life."_

_She looked disappointed. "Fine," she said with a sigh. "I'll just wait, then."_

"I'm not a pirate, Martha," Jack said reassuringly with a slight smile. He'd buried his desire to become a man employed by no one. The minor repairs to the _Wench_ were more than enough to convince him he preferred having wealthy backers. Even if he couldn't stand Cutler Beckett, the thought of compensation for something as minor as delivering a letter was quite the siren. "I work for the Company."

She nodded and smiled, though the smile didn't go to her eyes. He was starting to look curious enough to be labeled as unique, and generally captains working for the Company weren't that fond of oddities in their hair. "Yes, well, I thought that would interest you. He's due to hang after his trial…which is tomorrow, I believe."

Jack quirked a brow. "So they've already decided to hang him, eh?" He sounded somewhat disappointed. So much for fair trials.

"Yes," Martha responded, hardly sounding upset as she glanced at the bustle of people. "Will you be in town long?"

"No." Jack smiled somewhat sadly. "I have business t' get to, unfortunately. Can't even stay 'round here much longer."

She looked saddened by the news, but determined to not let Jack just slip away again. "Do you have enough time to come for tea?"

He nodded slowly. "As long as it doesn' take too long. I've got to leave for Southampton early tomorrow morning. Company business." Most other men would feel a small well of pride inside at that thought, but Jack felt something akin to apathy. Perhaps he would consider working as some sort of mercenary, going from person to person looking for the best money to smuggle goods about.

She looked pleased by his answer, putting her arm around his like she used to when she was small. "Come, then. Let me take you to my home." Then she pulled him toward a different section of the town.


	18. Chapter Seventeen: The Bishop

Disclaimer: I don't have permission to be writing this, mate.

_Author's Note (02/02/07)_: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know I say I'll get into a regular habit of updating and then I don't… Classes are draining this semester. I do wish you all a happy groundhog's day, though. And Valentine's Day, in the off chance I don't update before then. Thank you for all the support thus far. I hope you enjoy this chapter. The story is really starting to pick up.

**Chapter Seventeen: The Bishop**

Jack felt like an idiot stepping out of the carriage in front of the vicar's home in the parish near Southampton. Beckett had sent over a man with the clothes that had also insisted on combing the captain's wild hair. He hadn't looked so well-groomed in nearly a decade and he felt as though all eyes were on him as he made his way to the vicar's front door. He was masquerading as a priest-in-charge, a person who had a parish under his control that was waiting for an official appointment to become vicar. He figured it was a better way to gain access to the bishop without suspicions falling upon him. The letter was inside his vest coat pocket, safely waiting to be delivered to his mark. As long as he just badgered the bishop for a response, he wouldn't have to pretend for very long. Then he could get back to his own business and possibly head off to the Caribbean. It'd been a while since he'd been there and he really wanted to explore the islands he'd only read about.

The clothes were fine and horribly uncomfortable. To make matters worse, they were made of wool and itched abominably. He resolved to get out of them as quickly as he possibly could, though he had to admit he did look rather convincing as long as he tried to keep his erratic steps in control. No one would suspect he was trying to pass himself off as someone he wasn't. He'd been practicing a proper accent in his mind during the entire journey to Southampton and was quite sure that if he were to be spoken to, he'd do a well enough job speaking to fool his own mother.

He knocked on the door of the fairly modest parish and was greeted quite cordially from a middle-aged maid who led him to the parlor without even bothering to ask who he was. He sat down on one of the couches that had likely been donated to the parish by someone who decided to purchase something without a large, smelly stain hiding underneath one of the pillows on the right arm and had no idea what to do with the old thing. Jack didn't know if he liked the fact that the vicar had such an object in his home. He was either genuinely humble or wanted to just give the air that he had no need for money or anything other than the good graces of his parishioners.

"Ah! Bishop Tupper! You're here a bit earlier than expected," a voice said quite eagerly from a doorway to Jack's left that faced the main entrance to the parlor. "I am quite sorry that I wasn't prepared to meet you." A rather mousy looking man stepped from the shadows, followed by a beautiful young woman that looked vaguely familiar. "I was just speaking to one of my parishioners." He nodded to the woman. "Kathleen, this is Bishop—"

"Lamentably, I'm not Bishop Tupper," Jack said hastily with a very nasally voice. He didn't know why he thought that he should speak with one, but he thought it incredibly amusing to watch Kathleen's reaction to it. His voice did not match his overall appearance of being a terribly attractive man. "I'm merely a priest-in-charge. The name is Jared Sands." He bowed towards Kathleen. "I am looking for the bishop, though. I 'eard he was due to stay with you."

"Ah." The vicar pushed his spectacles up on his nose. They were always trying to fall off due to the vicar's perfectly sloped nose. He didn't have a slight bump for them to rest on. "Well, Mister Sands, I'm Vicar Giles. How long do you intend to stay in Southampton?"

"Not too terribly long," Jack responded easily, smiling. He already didn't like this vicar. He seemed like a genuinely pious individual. Jack personally thought that no man could truly be humble, which meant that this was all a front that Giles was putting up in order to dupe people into paying his living expenses and listening to boring sermons. "Though, I was wondering if you happen to still have anyone with the last name of Hardy living in your parish, Vicar."

Giles looked slightly amused as he nodded and then looked at Kathleen, pushing his spectacles up on his nose again. The man had incredibly oily hair. It was so shiny that Jack was nearly convinced he could see his reflection in the man's bald spot if he were to stare long enough. Though Jack was hardly a tall man, he towered over Giles. Kathleen did as well. "This is Kathleen Hardy, as a matter of fact."

"Pleasure to meet you, Mister Sands," Kathleen said somewhat demurely, curtsying as Jack reached out to gently kiss her hand. She smiled as he kissed her hand. How could she not? Jack was quite the attractive man.

"The pleasure is all mine," the captain said magnanimously, carefully letting go of her hand. She certainly was a beautiful woman. Now that he knew that she was related to Keaton, he could see the resemblance between them. She was probably only a year or so older than the captain, which surprised Jack. He'd figured that Keaton's sister would be homely and quite a lot older, as Keaton had been quite a lot older and somewhat homely. Kathleen was just a female version of him with sparkling eyes and something indefinable about her that screamed beauty.

Giles looked between the two and seemed quite ready to say something else when he heard the unmistakable sounds of another carriage pulling up. "That must be Bishop Tupper," he said, sounding quite thrilled. He bowed to both his companions. "If you'll excuse me, I must see to my other guest. I only hope that he finds the room suitable." He nodded to them and then disappeared from the room, trying to mask his sudden exuberance. It seemed out of place on a man of God, in his opinion. The mere fact that he was trying to impress a superior wrote him entirely out of Jack's book of credible ministers who genuinely believed what they spoke of. The book had yet to have a name added to it.

Kathleen looked at the door for a moment before calmly regarding Jack once more. He could see the curiosity sparkling in her gorgeous eyes. He purposefully stayed quiet, just to gauge her reaction as long as possible. She couldn't bear the silence after a moment. "May I inquire as to why you're looking for my family?" she inquired respectfully.

Jack's dark eyes seemed to darken as a vision of a very dry Keaton flashed through his mind. The smile on his face faltered and he became quite serious. "I knew your brother, Miss Hardy."

Kathleen's smile disappeared as well, knowing full well what that sort of tone meant. "What happened?" she asked, resembling a doe about to be shot.

"He was aboard the very same ship I was on, Miss Hardy. I had been in Greece, studying the Arts when I purchased passage aboard the _Wicked Wench_. Shortly after departing from Greece, we stopped in a small village in Africa. Your brother, defending his captain, was taken to the middle of the desert." Jack spoke in almost a whisper, "He was dead long before we were able to find him. Fortunately, he saved the captain's life."

A few tears formed in Kathleen's eyes. "Was he in pain?" she asked through her tears, both embarrassed and relieved to be crying in front of Jack.

Jack shook his head, though he knew it was a complete lie. "Death came swiftly for him, fortunately." He smiled very weakly. "I would like to offer my condolences to you and your family. The captain, who was with him when he passed on to the next world, told me that the last thing he spoke of was you."

She nodded mutely, brushing at a few of her tears as she tried to regain control of her emotions. Jack reached into his vest coat pocket and retrieved a handkerchief. Fortunately, it wasn't embroidered with any initials as handkerchiefs often were, because that would have ruined his disguise. He calmly approached Kathleen and gently wiped at some of her tears. "Thank you," she said with a sniffle.

"The captain told me t' make sure you knew your brother's wishes, Miss Hardy," Jack said gently, somehow not bothered by the fact that she was leaking. If she'd gone hysterical after he told her what had happened, he probably would've been quite annoyed. As it was, he only felt empathy for her. Keaton had been an exemplary man. "Keaton wanted to make sure that you weren't alone."

More tears filled Kathleen's eyes. Jack had obviously mentioned something that was a sore spot. "I am alone. Mother and Father died last year. Someone lit our home on fire. I have nothing. I've been living at the expense of the parishioners around here." She seemed so lost and alone that Jack put his arms around her, drawing her head to his shoulder to offer some sort of comfort he hoped wouldn't be construed as contrary to what a man of God would do. "I'm all alone, Mister Sands," she whimpered. "I've nowhere to turn. I can't even buy passage on a ship to reach France to join a convent."

"You mustn't lose faith," Jack found himself saying. Joining a convent would mean defecting to the Catholic Church. While Jack had nothing against that, he knew that it wasn't what Keaton would have wanted. "Keaton has left you everything."

Kathleen laughed slightly, sounding sick as she looked up into Jack's eyes. "I doubt that amounts to much, Mister Sands. He was always far too generous with his pay."

Jack smirked slightly, gently caressing her cheek with his index finger. "Now now, luv, it's more than you'd think. Probably enough to live comfortably for the res' of your life. Keaton was a very industrious man and he saved a lot more than you likely think." Actually, Keaton was too generous with his money. He would lend it out to people and never expect to get it back. If it hadn't been for the profit they'd made on the stolen goods from that pirate ship, he'd have been a poor man indeed.

She didn't look as though she believed him, but didn't want to say anything to the contrary because she very obviously enjoyed the attention she was getting from him. Jack seemed unlike any man she'd ever met before, and her pulse quickened every time she thought of him touching her. "Where is it?" she questioned.

Jack glanced down at his bag. Fortunately, he'd taken a share out of their profit for his loyal first mate. Kathleen probably would be fairly comfortably off, at least for a few years. His duty to her was nearly at an end. After all, he hadn't been asked by Keaton to set her up with a house or anything… "I have it with me," he answered. "An' I'll give it to you as soon as I've been situated in my room."

"_I'm proud of you for doing as you promised," Pearl remarked, her voice light and airy as the scales appeared and some white was added to the balance. Perhaps there was hope for Jack after all._

"_How can ye be proud of me?" Jack asked, quirking an eyebrow._

"_Well, you kept your word. Generally when one keeps one's word, it's a good thing," Pearl explained slowly._

_Jack chuckled and shook his head. "I know that. But I thought that pride was a bad thing."_

"_It is."_

"_Then how can ye be proud of me?"_

_Pearl scowled at him. "Fine. I'm pleased with you for doing as you promised." She certainly didn't like the look of amusement Jack was giving her. "Proud is too strong a word. I'm sure you'll do something to negate this good work anyway," she added haughtily. Jack still looked amused. Miffed, she stayed quiet._

Kathleen looked pleased by the answer. Then she looked horribly embarrassed as she wiped the last of her tears with the drenched handkerchief. "I'm sorry," she apologized, handing it back to him. "I work here as a maid from time to time. If you'd like, I can show you to your room. It isn't much, but it's better than sleeping on the floor." She sniffled slightly.

"Very well." Jack smiled as he followed her through a door to a very plain room. It had a bed, a dusty dresser, and a very small window. It was more than he had expected for showing up unannounced. "Thank you," he said appreciatively, as he set his satchel down on the bed. "This should suffice."

"You're welcome." She curtsied. "Is there anything I can get you?"

Jack shook his head slightly. "No." He opened the bag and then pulled out a smaller cloth sack full of money. That was all he'd had in the bag, truthfully, because he didn't expect to stay around very long. The sack contained a small fortune and weighed quite a lot. "This is what Keaton left you," he announced, holding the bag as though it were a dead rodent. He didn't want to give the impression that he'd rather keep the money himself. If she hadn't been so poor, he likely would have. Money didn't mean much, of course, but it was always nice to have an extra reserve in case something dreadful happened.

Kathleen slowly took it and looked inside, her eyes widening as she realized how much money it truly was. Ecstatic, she set it down on the ground and hugged the captain, kissing him gently on the cheek as a sign of gratitude. Jack, unable to restrain himself in the presence of a beautiful woman, kissed her back before she could step backwards.

The look on her face after the wonderfully sweet kiss ended was both alarming and amusing. She seemed to have enjoyed it very much but was appalled at the thought of kissing a religious man. "Mister Sands…" she said weakly, trying to think straight. Jack was like her own personal savior. Without him, she wouldn't be able to live comfortably.

"Relax," Jack said gently. "This is very natural." He kissed her again. "It's all over in the scriptures."

She frowned somewhat, her mind clearly protesting but her body aching for the unknown. "Generally followed by smiting," she remarked breathlessly.

"Not really," Jack said with a slight shrug. He didn't know his scriptures very well, but he knew he had to make a semi-plausible argument in order to get what he suddenly wanted very much. "God likes it when people love each other, doesn' he?"

She slowly nodded. "I suppose so."

"What better expression of love is this?" He kissed her again, more passionately. "It's the ultimate one. Really, we're worshipping Him by acknowledging the fact that we love each other very much." She felt as warm as the harsh desert sun had. "We'd be ungrateful not t' show him how much we've enjoyed meeting each other."

Kathleen bit her bottom lip for a moment, clearly still not entirely convinced. She'd always been told that such relations could only be done in the bond of matrimony. A part of herself had been convinced she'd never get to experience the joys of such a thing, which was why she'd been planning to join a convent. Men shied away from her and she couldn't understand why. This could be the only chance she'd get to experience such a thing. Plus, Jack was handsome and kind. "I suppose you've got a point," she said softly.

Jack smirked slightly and then kissed her once more. "It isn't wrong, luv. Don't ever let anyone tell you that." He could tell he'd won. After this little foray, he'd go down and meet with the bishop, deliver the letter, visit the jail to see the pirate, and then await a response. What could go wrong?

"_You really are incorrigible," Pearl commented with a frown._

"_How many times are we goin' t' have this conversation?" Jack asked, sounding vaguely annoyed. "I mean…I certainly don' stop sleeping wiv women after this particular juncture in me life."_

_Pearl was silent for a moment, looking at Kathleen as she collected a few thoughts like seashells on a beach. "I won't say anything anymore," she promised, as the scale appeared and it dipped toward the more evil side. "I just wonder, Jack—If you manage to make it past here and back to earth, will you do what you did before, knowing that it's wrong?"_

_Jack really didn't know how to answer that. "I suppose that will depend on the circumstances in which I find meself," he answered ambiguously, though the question had affected him deeply. Would he still be himself when he came back?_

Jack slipped silently from Kathleen's grip as he quickly dressed again, letting her sleep. He was used to slipping out of the rooms of strumpets by now, having finally learned his lesson from Sidonia and her wiles. Kathleen would probably sleep for another hour or two, and he certainly didn't want to be there when she awoke and realized what she'd just done with a supposed man of God. He could have just potentially wrecked his alibi. Given the opportunity to do it again or not, he would certainly take the same course of action. She'd probably enjoyed the experience too much to complain.

He ran his fingers through his wild, dark hair in an attempt to make it flat once more. As soon as he was reasonably ready to appear before a bishop, he stepped through the door and went down to the main parlor, rightly assuming that was where Giles was entertaining his important guest.

Bishop Tupper looked like a well-traveled man. His hair was grey, the jowls of his face wrinkled and sagged, the lines next to his eyes deep and pronounced, and liver spots speckled his hands and face. He had a large, well-trimmed beard that seemed to flow from his chin like a frozen waterfall. He moved slowly, limping every time he put his right leg on the floor due to an ongoing battle with gout. He was bent over by years and experience. Vicar Giles seemed to be in his element while conversing with the ancient and respected bishop. His face seemed to glow as though he'd just come from the Mount of Transfiguration.

Jack didn't know what to think of the bishop as he was introduced to the man. There was no aura of false piety emanating from him as there was around Giles. That either meant he knew he was a hypocrite and didn't have to pretend to be one or that he genuinely did believe what he professed and preached about. He seemed to peer right through Jack, and the captain had the distinct impression that Tupper knew why he was visiting this particular rectory right away. It was an odd sensation, but the caption knew he had to complete his task. The pay was well worth it and Jack wasn't entirely keen on making an enemy of Cutler Beckett. The short man seemed perfectly capable of wicked and painful things.

After exchanging pleasantries, Jack sat down across from the decrepit bishop. Giles mumbled something about fetching tea and conveniently left the parlor, leaving Jack alone with his mark. "Bishop Tupper," Jack started, "I've—"

"Who sent you?"

Jack certainly hadn't been expecting the bishop to cut him off. "Beg pardon?"

"I'm not a fool, Mister Sands, just as you're not planning to become a man of God. Who sent you?" With Vicar Giles out of the room, the bishop seemed like a regular curmudgeon who belonged sitting on a porch watching the last of this life pass by. He apparently had highly tuned acting skills.

Jack sighed slightly as he rolled his eyes and pulled out the letter addressed to the man. "Cutler Beckett," he revealed, leaning forward and slowly handing the letter to the bishop. Tupper grabbed the letter with his bony, liver-spotted, and hairy hand. "How did you know?"

"I've seen enough womanizers in my days to recognize one," the bishop said with a grunt. "You and Miss Hardy were alone together far longer than propriety allows." He slowly broke the wax seal with one of his long fingernails and started reading the letter.

Jack chuckled softly and sat back in his chair. "You have some remarkable powers of observation," he remarked with a grin.

The bishop merely shrugged as he started reading the letter. "You ought to work on covering up your indiscretions. It was only obvious what it was you'd done." He quickly scanned the letter and frowned. His face seemed fifty times more wrinkled. "I'm not going to do this. I'm not Beckett's puppet."

Jack shrugged. "What you do or don' do isn't my business, Bishop. I'm just here until you send off a response. That's all Beckett asked of me."

The bishop seemed somewhat surprised. He had obviously assumed that Jack had been sent to ensure he answered in a way pleasing to Cutler Beckett. "Very well." He looked around the room and pointed to some spare parchment, a quill, and some ink sitting on a desk. "I'll answer right now if you bring those to me."

Jack stood and retrieved the requested items, carefully handing them to the bishop so that he did not spill the ink. The man had a slight tremor in his left hand that he would probably be very upset over if Jack mentioned it. Aging did not seem like a graceful process. Jack halfway hoped he wouldn't end up as old as the man sitting in front of him. It would be far better to go out in a flash of glory than to slowly wither into the grave.

"Thank you." Tupper set the paper arm of his chair, hastily scribbling a shaky response. He signed his name at the bottom of the paper, to authenticate the letter in order to keep Jack from being reprimanded. He liked the young hooligan Beckett had decided to send. Mostly that was because he wasn't ready to die, yet, but it was still nice knowing that he was still respected. He waved his hands over the text for a few moments until the ink was dry enough for him to fold it. Once that was done, he handed it to Jack. "I can't exactly say it was a pleasure meeting you."

"Neither can I," Jack responded with a smirk as he placed the new letter in his pocket. He had no idea what it was that Beckett would want from a man such as Bishop Tupper, but it wasn't his place to find out. "Good luck," he added, bowing slightly before slipping out of the front door. Giles would no doubt be confused by Jack's abrupt departure, but Jack didn't want to arrive at the prison after they'd hung the pirate prisoner.

Once outside the rectory, Jack made his way to the prison. He couldn't resist satiating his curiosity as to who was inside. The only pirate by the name of Sparrow that Jack could think of was rumored to be dead. He'd been a member of the Order of the Brethren and had enjoyed looking as unique as possible. Jack's tendency to tie memories in his hair had been distinctly influenced by a wanted poster he'd seen of the infamous Captain Grant Sparrow in Saint Kitts once. The wild-eyed man had bones of his enemies drawn into his hair by the artist. It seemed like a good way to stand out in a crowd and compensated for his tendency to forget what had happened in his life since his last visit to London, as he now wore his memories on the outside. Jack would shortly discover if the artist's rendition of the pirate Teague was anything like the infamous pirate.

"Halt!" one of the guards yelled as Jack approached. Jack put his hands up to show he wasn't a threat, though he didn't stop heading to the door leading to the prison. "What's your purpose here?" the guard asked warily.

"I'm here to preach to the condemned prisoner," Jack answered calmly, sounding very much like a religious man. He added enough inflection to doubly show his disgust at the prisoner's choice in life as well as the hope that the man could reform. "I'm here to try an' convince him to come to God during his last day on the earth."

The soldier looked at him warily, obviously not trusting him. "I should like to see some identification," he said with a frown.

"I'm Vicar Sands, here at the bequest of Vicar Giles, to preach to pirate in his stead," Jack said easily, reaching into his robes. He frowned slightly. "I seem to have forgotten my identification, sir. I can go back an' get it—"

The soldier's companion, a devout man that enjoyed listening to sermons and often pondered his own soul, seemed rather upset, putting his hand up. "I think we should let him in," he protested. "Why would a man of God need identification? 'E jus' wants to give the man a last chance t' repent." The soldier glanced at Jack. "Will you be tellin' him that he's to be going to Hell otherwise?"

"Of course," Jack replied, smiling slightly. "I wouldn't dream of not mentioning that particular tidbit."

The soldier glanced back at his companion, a triumphant look on his face. "How can we not let a condemned man know where 'e's going, Norrington?"

"_Norrington?" Jack repeated, obviously caught off guard by his own memory as he stared at the soldier in front of him. The man clearly wasn't the former commodore. He was shorter and had blue eyes, as opposed to green._

"_Yes. This is James Norrington's elder brother, Nathaniel Alvin. He died shortly after his father bought a commission in the Navy for him during an accident aboard his ship. His death influenced James greatly, which was why him losing his commission was such a blow. He'd worked very hard to get where he was before you showed up."_

"_Huh," Jack said thoughtfully. He wasn't sure if he liked this background information or not. If he could understand why Norrington acted the way he did, he wouldn't be able to hate him so easily. The former commodore had wrecked his plans and had ultimately caused his demise, after all. "Tha's interesting." It was something he'd have to try to forget in order to get revenge._

The man called Norrington sighed slightly. He didn't particularly want to get into a fight with his companion in front of a civilian about this particular matter. There was no point. His father planned to purchase a commission for him with the Navy in the next week. "Very well, clergyman. Make it quick."

"I will," Jack replied with a slight smile, bowing graciously to both men. They escorted him into the prison, past several cells filled with brigands and liars, stopping next to the last one on the row. The soldiers nodded to Jack and then pounded on the cold iron to wake the prisoner up. "Would it be too much for me t' ask some privacy with the condemned?" Jack asked, turning away from the man as the prisoner slowly sat up. He didn't know where this conversation would go, but he was certain that any soldier wouldn't approve.

"No, not too much 't'all, Vicar," the friendly soldier said quickly, before his companion could say anything. "We've got to guard the prison anyway." He nodded to the man, practically yanking Norrington away from the scene.

Jack turned to look at the prisoner, who was now sitting up. The prisoner was staring at Jack, wondering who'd come to gloat over his precarious position now. As their gazes met one another, it was as though they'd both been shocked by lightning. The resemblance between them was uncanny. It seemed that Captain Jack Sparrow was staring at his father.


	19. Chapter Eighteen: The Star

Disclaimer: I do not have permission to be using these characters, mate.

_Author's Note__(4/4/07)_: I know, I know, it has been two months since my last update. I apologize. Classes this semester have been evil, as classes often are. It's finals week right now. I should be working on my final project for my intro to programming class. But I'm not. I decided to give all y'all a loverly update instead! Yay! I apologize for the wait, once more. And I hope you enjoy this chapter. And the way I avoided saying, definitively, if Jack's father's name is Teague or Grant. Ha. Reviews are loved, especially now that we're getting closer to the chapters dealing with Davy Jones. The more reviews I get, the faster I'll update, more'n likely.  
_(6/03/07):_ I think you'll like the changes I made in order to make this more in accordance with the third movie...

**Chapter Eighteen: The Star**

Both men lowered their gazes simultaneously. An awkward pause was quickly interrupted as the prisoner asked, "Wot d' ye wan'?" He seemed trying to spit something up his voice was so gruff. Obviously he'd dismissed his initial thought that he was staring at a younger, slightly more attractive version of himself. The chances that one of his numerous illegitimate offspring would come to see him while he was incarcerated were slim. Besides, no son of _his_ would be dressed so fine, like a member of the Church of England clergy. As far as his rather rum-soaked mind could recall, the only women he'd ever been with were penniless prostitutes or his numerous wives.

Jack decided he was just seeing things as well. His father was really in the Caribbean, mocking his mother and yelling about his new baby sister. It was merely a coincidence that they had similar builds and nearly identical eyes. He wasn't related to an infamous pirate about to be hanged. Of course, if he was…it would possibly explain why he felt at home only while at sea.

The prisoner rolled his eyes. "I don' 'xactly 'ave all day, guv'na. Wot d' ye want?"

"How did you get captured?" Jack asked after a long pause, unsure why he had spoken in such a contrast to the way that the prisoner was. The man's accent made it a bit difficult to decipher what he was saying. He sounded three sheets to the wind, even if it was highly unlikely he'd been allowed to drink anything other than water during his stay in prison.

"Bi' cheeky fer ye t' assume we be on intimate enough terms fer a question like tha', whelp." The prisoner leaned against one of the rock walls, his voice halfway amused. "I don' even know yer name."

"I fail t' see why I should divulge such important information to someone who isn' tellin' me his name, either." Jack just had to be sure that this was the _infamous_ Captain Edward Teague. He seemed like a lazy and annoying invalid. The man seemed emaciated and had a yellowish tinge to his skin. The tips of his fingers were clubbed. He seemed to be in pain, though he was just lying there with no visible marks on his skin. He probably couldn't even stand.

"Ye've certainly got spirit," he remarked with a weak laugh. "That'll get ye far. I be none other than Captain Edward Teague, pirate extraordinaire. I answer t' Teague, so long as it be said wiv the respect I've earned. I've pillaged more towns an' plundered more ships than any of t'other pirates in these 'ere parts. I was a member o' the Order o' the Brethren, when tha' meant somethin'. I ransacked nigh un'o thirty ships one year. I've laid siege t' the mos' prosperous ports in the Caribbean. I e'en attacked a town near Saint Kitts in the middle o' a hurricane. An' I've escaped certain death more times than I can remember, an' I've wooed more women than Don Juan hisself." He bowed his head slightly toward Jack.

Jack highly doubted most of what the eccentric pirate had said was true, but the enthusiasm with which it had been delivered was contagious. "How did you get captured?" he asked again.

Teague put up one of his fingers, waving it back and forth as one might do to scold a disobedient child. "Not un'il I learn your name, mate. Ne'er been a fan of spinning a tale wivout properly known' me audience firs'. Makes for a better storytellin'."

"Why does it matter so much? You're going t' be dead in a few hours."

"You seem somewhat familiar," Teague admitted. The curiosity in his dark eyes overwhelmed the pain. "Have I me' you before?"

Jack slowly shook his head. Maybe it would be better to give the man his Christian name rather than what he went by. Of course, nothing would be accomplished by lying to a man slated to die… Even if he was the pirate's illegitimate son, it didn't matter. He wasn't a pirate. He was a valued captain working for leaders of the East India Company. Living the life of a buccaneer would only lead to the man he saw before him, so glutted of satiated lusts that he had started killing himself from the inside out. Teague very obviously had a disease. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow on assignment for the East India Company." He couldn't deny the name he'd been sailing under. It was a part of him.

Teague pulled a face, looking absolutely disgusted at the mere thought of the Company. He was sufficiently distracted by that caveat to take no notice of their oddly similar titles. "Wot's a Company man doin' 'ere?" His eyes widened, fear replacing the curiosity. "'Ave ye come 'ere t' settle the debt I 'ave t' Olson? He's the sort o' slimy dog tha'd kill a man what's supposed t' die at the hands o' a government official."

"No—no. I'm jus' a curious spectator, as it were."

"Wot are ye so curious abou', then?"

Jack faltered for a moment. How could he describe why it was he'd wanted to see the infamous pirate without coming across as some sort of adoring fan or a pirate hater? His mind was full of so many contradictions. Now that he could see the man with his yellow skin and bone-filled hair, he really had no reason to prolong the encounter. "Nothing in particular."

"Ah, so yer here t' record me life 'istry, eh?" Jack's silence prompted another guess. "Let me guess—one of us, or e'en me, ruined your life by burning yer house down t' the ground. Yer 'ere t' get revenge, but being a respectable Comp'ny man, yer too afraid t' do wot it is ye came 'ere t' do." Teague grunted softly. "Either tha', or yer 'ere t' stare at a pirate. Bet ye've ne'er seen one before." He smirked slightly. "That, or ye 'aven' realized ye've seen one before. Either way, I'm sure yer sorely disappointed. I'm no' ten feet tall like the stories say."

"How were you captured?" Jack asked again, simply ignoring the tirade of the pirate.

Teague scowled as he looked at the man standing in front of him. "Why do ye care? Tryin' to fin' the bes' way t' set a trap for unsuspectin' pirates, are we?"

Jack shook his head. "I've heard many stories about you, Captain Teague, an' I jus' want t' know how a man such as yourself could end up in a place such as this."

Teague stared at Jack for a moment and then frowned. "Simple. I passed out at an inopportune moment. Me curren' arch-nemesis, a Cutler Beckett, bribed a woman t' drug my rum, knowing my weakness involving the fairer sex. 'E sent one of 'is sodding henchmen t' give me a good beating an' then had me arrested on trumped up charges. The Company is jus' upset wiv me because I stole summat quite valuable." The pirate looked as though he was going to say something further, but his face crinkled in sudden wariness. Years of living by satiating lust hadn't been kind to his memory. "Beckett sent ye, din' 'e?"

Jack was tempted to nod, but he shook his head instead. "Beckett is a power-hungry git."

"Wot did ye say yer name was?"

"Jack."

"Well, Jackie, yer a smart enough fellow, I suppose. If you spring me from this cell, I will give you wot it is I stole, savvy?" The desperation in his voice was pathetic. If Jack were more loyal to Cutler Beckett, he'd undoubtedly want to take what was stolen and turn it over to the short man for points in his favor. However, if a pirate bothered stealing it, perhaps it would be best to keep it to himself.

"What did you steal?"

Teague smiled rather ambiguously, the numerous crosses in his dark hair glinting in the firelight as he did so. "A set o' coordinates t' an island full o' treasure that cannot be found except by those who already know where 't is."

Jack nearly scoffed, balking at the thought that Beckett would actually care that such ludicrous information had slipped through his fingers. Maybe Teague, knowing the general reputation of Cutler Beckett spoken of behind his back, had fabricated this in a desperate attempt to stall his final brush with death. Jack wanted to say no. However, he couldn't easily dismiss the feeling that Teague deserved a better death. He was in the Order of the Brethren back when it existed, after all. "Fine. We 'ave an accord."

"Great." Teague started to stand up, grasping onto the wall. "Get me out."

Jack had no idea how to go about doing that. He was going to break the law for imaginary coordinates to an imaginary island where imaginary treasure existed just to let an old man die with a bit more dignity than being hung and gibbeted to warn other pirates. "Right." He glanced around the prison, trying to find the keys. Of course, they weren't in plain sight. They were probably on the person of one of the guards, which wasn't very helpful. The pious one would be easy enough to dupe into handing them over, but Norrington would likely see through any verbal attempt to sequester them. He could probably beat them if it came to hand-to-hand combat, but he was unarmed and they had muskets.

He frowned, deep in thought, before turning to look at Teague. "Lie down," he ordered softly. "Don't move." Teague looked at him curiously for a few moments before quickly doing as he'd been ordered. It seemed that Jack had a plan. He looked at the older man warily for a moment before glancing at the guards. Norrington appeared to be mostly ignoring his companion's rambling. Jack watched them silently for a moment, wondering which one had the keys. Norrington seemed like the more responsible individual, but one never really knew how long he'd been serving as a guard. Perhaps his jovial companion had seniority.

As the friendly one laughed, Jack rushed forward with a carefully calculated worried look on his face. "Sirs…sirs! I must get into that cell at once." He paused, putting his hand on one of the walls in an attempt to look breathless. Jack was fairly certain that most members of the clergy weren't in particularly good physical condition.

The pious one quickly reached down toward his belt, pulling the keys out of a small bag. They were tied to a string to his belt, and he nervously started trying to find the correct one to use to get into the cell, taking a step toward the cells.

"Wait a moment," Norrington said cautiously, putting his hand out to stop his uniformed companion. "Why is it that you need to get into the cell, Vicar?" The suspicion in his voice seemed to be wagging a finger right at Jack.

"He's dying. Needs his Last Rites," Jack answered anxiously. He was pleased to remember that term, though he was only marginally sure that the Anglican Church regularly gave the Last Rites to those dying.

The friendly guard immediately pulled out the correct key, straining to get past Norrington. "Why would a condemned man need Last Rites? He hasn't repented, has he?" asked the cautious man.

"Why not give 'im the opportunity?" Jack asked, sounding frustrated. "He is one of God's children, sure as we all are. Christ has grace enough to save him."

"Will you be administering the Viaticum?" The tone to Norrington's voice was worrisome. Jack had the feeling that this question would determine whether or not he was allowed access into the cell.

"Of course," he said impatiently. "Hurry. There isn't much time."

Both soldiers stared at him, obviously confused, as the nicer one let the correct key drop to mingle with the other keys. The Viaticum, or final Eucharist given to a dying person, was generally only administered in the Roman Catholic Church. Anglicans still had the Anointing of the Sick before death, but that did not generally include the partaking of the blood or body of Christ. "Vicar, what exactly is your stance toward transubstantiation?" the friendly one asked, hoping that perhaps the vicar was just a little confused.

"I think that it's a bit overrated," Jack replied. "Too much arguin' about it going on."

Norrington's eyes widened as he realized that Jack was, in fact, a fraud. He was about to say something when Jack grabbed the friendly one's musket. "Hey—that isn't yours!" the soldier protested.

Jack merely rolled his eyes as he hit Norrington in the back of the head. The other man's eyes widened as Jack hit him in the head as well. They both fell to the floor of the prison. Norrington's head appeared to be bleeding. Jack stared at both of them for a moment, in shock, until he heard Teague laughing at him. "I mus' admit, this is the first time I've sprung a man from jail," he said defensively, loud enough to be heard by the prisoner.

The laughs were louder, and Jack imagined the man saying something terribly annoying like "I could tell". Really, Teague needed to be more grateful about the fact that he was getting out. "D' ye e'en know wha' transubstantiation is?"

"No," Jack replied, kneeling next to the unconscious friendly guard. He grabbed the keys and quickly stood, hurrying over to the cell where Teague was. Every move he made seemed to take an eternity, and his ears were straining to hear if another guard was coming. "Why would I know a thing like tha'? Do I really look like a clergyman?"

Teague shook his head, looking terribly unbalanced as he stood up. "No. Jus' curious. The whole idea of eating the actual flesh an' blood o' Christ ne'er did sit too well wiv me." He shuddered, nearly falling over. He looked like a toddler ready to throw up all over himself the moment Jack turned his head.

"_Out of curiosity, what is the deal wiv transubstantiation?" Jack queried, though he wasn't particularly eager to break the scene. He seemed to be absolutely fascinated by the man in the cell. Now that he saw himself across from him, their similar features were undeniable._

_Pearl looked at Jack for a moment, very obviously thinking of a way not to answer the question. "Jack, it isn't my place to tell you which religious ceremonies are correct and which ones aren't. Theology never played prominently into your life, so you shouldn't spend your afterlife dwelling on theology."_

_Jack looked disappointed, but decided she did have a point. It hardly mattered now whether or not transubstantiation was correct, for he was fairly certain he wouldn't be changing his ways drastically when this life review was over. He was the same man he was when he died. "So he's really my father then, eh?"_

_Pearl looked over at the prisoner and nodded. "Yes."_

_Jack sighed slightly, examining his father more closely. Pearl watched him silently for a moment and the scene started up once more._

"Do you remember which key it is?" Jack asked, his fingers fumbling with each of the small keys as seconds melted into memory. He was shaking, too full of adrenaline to focus on something as intricate as trying keys in a lock. What if he were to be discovered? Beckett would not like him blowing his cover so easily, and if he knew that he was helping Teague escape, he would be in a lot of trouble. Not only would he end up in jail, but he'd lose the _Wicked Wench_ as well. His crew would likely be dismissed and Cutler Beckett would be thoroughly annoyed.

"No." There was that annoying lilt of amusement back in Teague's voice. "Yer more nervous than a virgin on 'er wedding night," he teased.

"Shut it," Jack said with a frown, taking a deep breath as he tried a key. He got it past the first tumbler before it wouldn't fit any longer. He swore softly and then tried the next key. It didn't fit.

"There's no reason t' be so tetchy," Teague said, sounding a man sitting on a porch in a rocking chair with no responsibilities. "Them two is the only guards. And, judged by the amoun' o' ruckus I heard when ye hit them on the head, they pro'lly won' be getting up anytime soon. You're in no danger."

Jack glared at Teague for a moment, willing his body to calm down. He took a few deep breaths before trying another key. It didn't fit either. Frustrated, he nearly dropped the keys as he fumbled with them in an attempt to try another one. The noise seemed deafening.

"Listen, son," Teague said helpfully, leaning against the wall of his cell. "Lobsterbacks ain't generally all tha' smart. Most of them are like the one what believed ye. So long as ye keep 'em distracted wiv words, or by hitting them on the head, there's no reason t' worry 'bout them. What sort o' soldier is goin' t' say that a clergyman sprung a pirate from jail, anyway? They'd be the laughin' stock o' the community. More'n likely, ye won' even be mentioned. It'll all add t' me rather auspicious reputation. 'Nother one fer the annals of time, this escape."

"How many of the stories about you are true, then?" Jack asked, jamming a key into the lock. It didn't fit, either. He nearly injured his index finger in the process.

Teague grinned. "Now tha's the ques'ion, innit?" he asked, chuckling. "Ye'd be surprised 'ow many people are willin' t' make ye sound worse than ye really are. Or bigger'n ye are. Af'er all, people don' generally give their goods over wivout a good excuse t' save face af'erward. A pirate what knows tha' can make hisself quite famous wiv very li'le effort."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jack said somewhat dismissively as he finally managed to find the key to the lock. He put it in and turned it. Teague started pushing on the bars, apparently eager to escape his prison. "Wait…I want to know the coordinates firs'. Jus' so you don't cheat me."

Teague seemed somewhat disappointed, leaning on the bars perilously near Jack's face. His breath smelled as though something had crawled into Teague's mouth and died several days ago. "I swear, on pain o' death, tha' I will give ye the coordinates. First I wan' a drink, though. Ye can' say no t' a mug o' rum, right, mate?" The eagerness and worry in his eyes was comical.

Jack sighed and nodded, slowly stepping to one side so that the apparently feeble pirate could get out of his cell. "Alright. But only one drink. My crew is expecting me back soon." Actually, they probably weren't, but he didn't want to be spotted by Kathleen. She might ask questions.

"Thank ye, mate," Teague said appreciatively. "Would ye min' paying for it, then?" The scowl on Jack's face was enough of an answer. "I don' 'xactly 'ave anythin' lef'," he explained, though it did nothing to sway Jack's mind. Jack wasn't in the mood to waste money on a man that could potentially encourage the law to take the _Wench _from him for associating with known pirates. "Fine," Teague said tiredly, reaching down into his boot. He pulled out a ring. It was silver, and skulls surrounded a beautiful emerald. "This shoul' cover it."

Jack looked at the ring for a moment, dropped the keys, and took it from Teague. "Alrigh'. I'll pay. For a whole round." He slipped the ring onto his right index finger. Teague looked about ready to tip over. He was wobbling, though standing perfectly still, and pale. Jack put the man's arm around his shoulder and bolstered him up. Together, they started toward the door. Jack could almost smell the embarrassment resulting from this situation from Teague over the stench of his body odor. In order to distract the man from the fact that he could scarcely walk, he decided to talk to him. "Out of curiosity, where'd you get this?"

"Now tha'…is an interes'in' story," Teague remarked, sounding as though he were trying to conceal a lot of pain. He'd probably had quite the beating if Beckett had really been behind it. "I'll tell ye af'er…we get t' the tavern, savvy?"

"Savvy?" Jack obviously knew what the word meant, but he'd never heard it used in such a peculiar way.

"Alrigh' is a bi' hackneyed," Teague explained, leaning more heavily on Jack as they sidled out of the door. "Like t' spice up me vocabulary." He nearly fell down as they started down the road toward the nearest tavern. "If ye can talk circles 'round someone, they…do things for ye, no questions."

"Ah." That seemed reasonable. Jack glanced at the man for a moment, wondering if perhaps he could use some of this advice to his benefit. He was continually looking for more ways to become a better captain. Sometimes he got the impression that his crew didn't like serving someone as young as he.

They arrived at the tavern a few minutes later. Jack helped Teague to a seat and then ordered two bottles of rum. He sat down across from the aging and ill pirate, handing him a bottle. Teague started drinking it like a starving baby, hardly pausing to breathe as he downed the fiery liquid. Silence filled the room for a few moments as other conversations hit a lull. It was an eerily long silence until one of the men sitting at a table next to both captains started accusing another of cheating.

Teague finished his bottle and sighed in relief, leaning back in his chair. "Tha' hits the spot, it does," he remarked, glancing at Jack as he drank some of his own rum. "Nothin' better'n tha' sweet substance, mate. I've been all o'er the world, an' rum is still me favorite."

Jack nodded his agreement as he swallowed his swill. "So, where'd ye get the ring?"

"From a dead Spaniard. I think 'e stole it from one of them tribes Cortez slaughtered. Ran in'o his grave while I was lookin' fer somethin' else. Smelled awful, it did. An' I could've sworn va' 'e moved when I pried it off 'is fingers. But I liked it, so I took it."

"I wouldn't exactly call that an interesting story," Jack remarked, sounding almost disappointed.

"It's the truth, though. Truth generally isn' as interesting as stories." He greedily eyed Jack's bottle of rum until Jack simply handed it to him.

"I should get going." Jack glanced around the tavern, very much aware of how odd it would look to see someone dressed nice and clean in company with a man that reeked as bad as Teague did.

Teague, who'd pressed the bottle to his lips, put it down. "Le' me keep me end of the bargain, firs'." He reached down into his boot and pulled a very small piece of parchment out. It had been folded numerous times. "I'm gettin' old, mate. Can't go af'er supposed treasure no more."

Jack took the parchment and opened it. Beckett's handwriting glared up at him. "The degree sacred to Eris, circles in Metatron's Cube, the number of steps between life and death North of the _Flying Dutchman_'s berth. The degree of souls going down to Egypt into bondage, the number of teeth a dog has, the number of men on a dead man's chest, and the number of ounces to a pound when West of the Orient," he read aloud. He looked up at Teague. "These aren't coordinates."

_Pearl glanced at Jack curiously, putting her hand on his arm. "What in the world do those mean?"_

"_It's a riddle," Jack explained. "An' it took me forever t' work it out. Obscure riddle, really. Each of the statements means a number, which in turn becomes the latitude an' longitude of the Isla Cruces. I suppose it's a good thing it was a riddle, or Beckett would've taken the treasure. An' that wouldn't have been very good. An undead Cutler Beckett…" He shivered at the thought of seeing the man a skeleton._

"_Ah." Pearl still looked slightly confused. "How long did it take you?"_

"_Well…" Jack was thoughtful for a moment. "Once I figured out the more obvious ones, abou' a month. I've never figured out why people think they need codes to protect their treasure…someone is goin' t' crack it. An' you obviously can't take your treasure wiv you when you die… I don' like pirates tha' bury things. Pointless. Good thing it don' happen very often. I'd hate to think that people would ever assume we pirates could hold on'o money long enough to bury it anywhere."_

_Pearl looked at him curiously. "Relax," she said gently. He looked slightly embarrassed for a moment and then grinned. "Thank you." She motioned toward the scene before them. "Shall we continue?" His nod and silence was an adequate answer._

"Sure they is," Teague countered, before taking a long swill of rum. "Jus' have t' decipher it."

Jack folded the paper up. "Well, thank you for the ring, I suppose." He stood, obviously intending to leave the man to his own defenses now. Captain Edward Teague was no longer the infamous man Jack had heard about. He was a drooling old fool with crazy ideas and gibberish he thought was valuable.

"They really is coordinates," Teague insisted, setting the nearly empty bottle of rum down. "Think abou' it, 'fore ye toss 'em out, savvy?"

Jack really wanted to get out of the tavern. Every moment he spent here, with the washed-up Captain Teague, was another moment and he could be using to get back to Beckett and his ship. "Thank you for the ring," he said grandly, standing up.

"Eddy!" a very familiar female voice cried as a woman stepped into the tavern. "There you are. I just went to the prison and—" She looked at Jack for a few moments, confusion in her brown eyes that was mirrored in his.

"Mum?" he asked, sounding absolutely dumbfounded. There was no mistaking it. Rosalyn Smith stood before him with an amused expression on her face. She sat down on Teague's lap. "Why are you here? Martha said—"

"John, I left your father four years ago," Rosalyn said dismissively, kissing Teague gently on the cheek. "Eddy came back for me."

Jack felt as though he were watching a carriage crash into a tree. "Back?"

"Yes." Rosalyn smirked. "He's your father, John," she announced, putting her delicate fingers in the mass of dark hair Teague had.

Both Teague and Jack shook their head at this statement. "He's a Company man, Ros. No way 'e's my son," Teague's deep voice protested.

"I would know, wouldn't I?" Rosalyn asked, sounding quite exasperated. She kissed Teague again. Jack felt as though he were going to be ill all over the table. "Richard can't have children anymore. Not since before we married. There was an accident with one of the slaves."

"But—"

"Martha's father was a pirate as well, John," Rosalyn said easily, guessing what her son was about to protest about. "There was a reason you couldn't find me at home at night. I imagine that Richard's new daughter isn't his, either."

Jack really didn't like this news. He'd always thought that his mother was basically a good woman. But it seemed that she was little better than the women that Jack frequented himself. "It's Jack Sparrow now, Mum. Never did like my name."

Rosalyn smiled and nodded. "Jack suits you better." She looked at Teague. "We've been married for nearly three years, now. Planning on visiting Santiago, now that Eddy's free from jail. There's rumors that a tribe nearby have discovered the secret to immortality."

Jack nodded slightly, trying to mask the disgust on his face. "Right. Welll, I wish you the best o' luck in your marriage, Mum." The rumors about Captain Edward Teague suggested that this wasn't his first marriage—or likely to be his last. "Unfortunately, I mus' be off. My crew is expecting me. Ta." He put a hand to his head and saluted them. They were too busy kissing to really notice. This explained a lot.

Stepping out into the night air had never been such a relief to the captain before. He couldn't believe he was finally free of that awkward situation.


	20. Chapter Nineteen: The Blackbird

Disclaimer: I do not have permission to be using these characters.

_Author's Note (4/20/07)_: For anyone reading this affected by the tragic shootings at Virginia Tech, my prayers and thoughts go to you. We are all Hokies, and I'd like to express my condolences at any losses you might have experienced. For those of you not affected by the shooting, I ask you to remember those who are in your thoughts, and to pray for them.  
I apologize in advance if anyone finds this chapter offensive because of the violence. I'd like to make a disclaimer that I wrote that part before Monday and felt that I needed to include it despite what happened. I also assure you that I'm not intending anything in this chapter to be applied as my view of what happened, nor am I trying to tell anyone how to think about what tragically transpired on Monday. Once again, my thoughts and prayers are with those affected.

**Chapter Nineteen: The Blackbird**

The crew of the _Wicked _Wench was three days out of the port of Gorée, a bustling settlement on an island in the northwest section of Africa owned and operated by the French. The atmosphere aboard the _Wench_ was that of mystery. The crew had all been carousing about in town when the cargo had been loaded and now two armed guards stood watch near the entrance to the hold. Even Jack was unsure what it was that had been secreted into his ship. Beckett had been adamant that he not see what was going on. This was apparently a favor for an influential Frenchman, and Jack had no intention of making himself a target of Beckett's lust for revenge. Bishop Tupper had died mysteriously a week after Jack brought him Beckett's message, and Jack didn't particularly want to be in the man's place.

However, his curiosity was overwhelming. Visions of chests full of gold, jewels, and priceless artifacts seemed to haunt his dreams. He had a hard time concentrating on anything related to his position, as did his crew. Knots were being tied rather shoddily as men glanced toward the stairs leading down toward the hold. The itch of not knowing was growing to the point that it was uncomfortable and even painful to think of the mystery. Obviously it was a valuable cargo, or there wouldn't be guards traveling along with it.

Jack was standing next to the helm, checking their bearings once more to ensure that they were still en route to the Caribbean. He was excited to return to the waters he'd grown up in as a child. Killian, who generally stayed in his cabin while the sun was up, was up on deck, watching Jack. After two or three moments of silence as Jack stepped away from the compass, he quickly went up the stairs to speak to him. "I don't care for this situation, Captain," he said quickly.

"What situation?" Jack asked, quirking one of his eyebrows at the glare from Killian's face. He shone like ivory under the sun.

"The one in the hold," Killian explained.

Jack frowned slightly, stepping toward the stairs. Killian automatically followed, slightly behind him in respect for his position. They reached the main deck. "An' ye think I do?" Jack did not like the guards. They were silent, ugly, and smelled rather bad. One of them was large enough to squish a man's skull just by accidentally stepping on it. Jack certainly didn't want to see him upset.

"Not particularly." Killian was silent for a moment. "Do you know what it is?"

The captain sighed. "No." He'd been asked this question by everyone in his crew, now.

Killian didn't look surprised. "Why not?" he probed.

"I'm under strict orders t' not go down there an' find out. Beckett wants secrecy. The less I know, the better, apparently." Jack scowled. He hated not being able to go to every part of his ship.

"Beckett isn't exactly here, is he?" Killian pointed out, in a respectful tone of voice. He glanced around the main deck for a while and then looked back at the captain, as though he were looking for the short and fairly powerful man.

"Well, no, but—"

"Captain, it's starting to smell. I think there might be something dead down there." Killian shuddered slightly. The distinctive waft of death did seem to be coming up from the hatches. If Jack turned his head toward the hatches a bit too sharply, he nearly choked on the smell, actually.

"And?" Jack sounded intrigued. Perhaps his surgeon had some sort of rational reason for him to inspect the cargo.

"We already have a bad enough rat problem as it is," Killian continued. "Wouldn't want them to feed on whatever died down there, or whatever the cargo is might be in jeopardy."

"It isn't _that_ bad," Jack said defensively. He took any insult to the _Wench_ personally, even if it was a mere statement of fact.

"I saw one the size of a cat lurking near my surgical instruments, Captain. I think we have a problem." As if to prove his point, a large and smelly rat scurried over Jack's boot before disappearing below decks.

Jack sighed softly and then nodded. "Very well. I don' think they'll answer any questions. Seem more the quiet type t' me, personally." He stepped toward the stairs leading below deck.

"Thank you." Killian stayed still until Jack reached the stairs, but soon followed at a discrete enough distance to not be noticed. He was followed by Tannar, in turn, who was followed by several members of the crew. They all wanted to know what it was they were carrying that could smell so wretchedly.

Jack was well aware of the fact that he had an audience by the time he reached the two guards, who were staring forward as though no one had just approached them. It would likely be difficult for him to get any information from either of them. They both enjoyed self-appointed vows of silence. He walked up to the smaller one who probably wouldn't kill him for asking questions. He was captain, after all. "I was up on deck a momen' ago when I caught a whiff of the mos' wretched smell comin' from the cargo hold. I'm jus' curious…what's down here?"

The stoic Frenchman stared at Jack as though he could see through the man. There was an awkward silence as the crew pressed closer toward their captain while trying to remain unseen. "Answer, man." With no information forthcoming, Jack took a step toward the door. The arm of the large man automatically reached out and grabbed Jack's shoulder as the other one aimed his musket at Jack's head. The captain blinked a few times, determined not to look as worried as he suddenly felt. "Ah…so I'm not even allowed below deck, eh? This is my ship, sir," he pointed out. "I should be allowed into any part of it at any time." He looked over at the larger man and glared until his hand left his shoulder. His shoulder felt like it was an orange being squeezed to make juice. With a slight wince at the throb, he questioned the smaller one again. "What is the cargo?" he asked, the musket barrel still aimed directly at his head until he took a step back. An air of superiority in the man's blue eyes seemed to be laughing at Jack.

On a whim, he decided that perhaps they couldn't speak English. "Qu'est-ce qu'est la cargaison?" he asked, stammering slightly as he tried to remember lessons from his early youth in which he'd been forced to repeat words in French until his accent had been perfect. The language had come easy enough, but he still couldn't tell the difference between some of the sounds made in English and French.

The smaller guard seemed surprised by Jack using his language, though his accent was bordering on atrocious. Surprised enough that he actually said something, luckily. "La cargaison? Elle n'a pas d'importance."

That wasn't exactly the response Jack wanted. He thought the cargo was of vital importance, unlike what the man thought. Frustrated, he turned as though he were going to leave. The Frenchman looked away from him toward Killian, who was visible on the stairs. While he was distracted, Jack whipped around and grabbed his musket with surprising dexterity for a man who appeared to have perpetual sea legs. "Si vous me dites ce que c'est la cargaison, je vous le donnerai," he taunted, playing on the man's desire to keep his pride. It seemed a fair bargain: information for a musket. Once he knew what was sitting in his hold, he'd be able to satisfy the curiosity of his crew. It was unreasonable for Beckett to expect _complete_ secrecy while at sea, especially since the voyage took at least two months.

The man glanced toward his companion for a moment. The large man looked at Jack for a moment and frowned before slowly nodding. As long as he didn't demand to go into the hold, it hardly mattered if he knew. "Esclaves, Capitaine," the Frenchman revealed.

"Esclaves?" Jack repeated, positive he'd just heard the man wrong. The thought of human beings shackled to temporary berths in his hold was just sickening, far worse than the smell.

"Oui," the man confirmed. Jack stared at him, reeling at the information. He was carrying slaves. The _Wicked Wench_ was now a blackbird. A wave of revulsion filled him as he remembered the way his father had treated their slaves. Visions of ebony-skinned women with blood dripping down their backs after his father caught them sneaking off to men on other plantations filled his mind. He knees went weak. He wanted nothing to do with this. His hand started shaking as though he were trying to wipe something off an invisible man's shoulder. "Capitaine, donnez-le-moi," the guard said, pointing toward the musket. He seemed anxious to have it back.

"Esclaves?" Jack repeated again, still obviously in shock. His grip involuntarily tightened on the musket as the guard tried to get it back. There were men in his hold. There was probably a dead man in his hold, based on the smell. He felt like such an idiot for not being aboard his ship when the cargo was loaded. He felt like an idiot for ever making a deal with Beckett in the first place. How could he take these people from their home to a life of servitude?

The guard frowned, looking toward his very large companion. It was very obvious that Jack had lost his touch on reality temporarily. "Aidez-moi," he ordered. His companion's mind hadn't quite aged to the point of being considered delectable and irresistible cheese, but his muscles more than made up for that. A well-placed comment here and there from his companion ensured that he didn't just stare at the wall all day and put those muscles to good use.

The large man reached forward to grab the musket and rip it out of Jack's arms. As he tugged on it, Jack pulled the trigger. The bullet embedded itself into the large man's stomach. The other man's eyes widened for a moment before reaching forward for his musket. Jack started swinging it toward the man's head, but Tannar fired his pistol into the Frenchman's head. Bits of brain hit the wall next to the door into the hold. The large man tried to wrench the musket away from Jack once more, but Jack hit him in the head with it, sending him to the floor. His fall caused the entire ship to rock slightly in the water.

_Pearl squeaked uncomfortably, looking at the incredibly violent scene utterly aghast. She wanted to scream out as she looked over at Jack, disappointment in her eyes. "You shot him!" she exclaimed._

"_I did," Jack confirmed, hardly looking repentant. If anything, he looked proud._

"_Jack…" The tone of her voice caused him to look at her curiously. "You, who treasures freedom more than all else, shot him without any provocation. Your life wasn't in danger. And yet you killed him. He had a wife and three children."_

"_He was involved with something deplorable," Jack retorted._

"_He was hired to do this job, Jack. He was only doing what he was paid to do."_

"_So?"_

"_So you might have taken that into—"_

"_Pearl, this is the past. I've already killed him. And whatever you say about it, I won't be sorry," Jack interrupted._

_The features on Pearl's face suddenly appeared as though they were carved from wood as the scales appeared. Jack got the distinct impression he'd said the wrong thing, but seeing this memory again just made him upset again. He would do it again, given the chance. A very large black stone appeared, overpowering all the good he'd done in his life. The scale was sadly unbalanced. "Very well," she said, her voice cold and distant._

"_What?" he asked exasperatedly. "If I hadn' done what I did, I wouldn' have been able to—"_

"_Jack, if you can't figure out what it is that's wrong with killing a man just to get him out of the way, I'm not going to tell you. You should just remember that _every_ person's soul is of great worth, despite your cursory actions." She folded her arms across her chest._

_Jack hadn't the faintest clue what to say to that. He had no idea that a person could get so angry at the death of a dim-witted man who couldn't think for himself. He decided that silence was the best course of action. _

"Wha' is it?" Tannar asked, anxiously, as Jack hit the lock on the door with the butt of the pistol. Jack was the only one on board that spoke French that happened to hear the answer of the now-dead Frenchman.

"Slaves," Jack replied brusquely, breaking the lock with a loud clang. He tossed the musket on the floor and stepped over the corpses. Normally, killing a man made Jack shake more than usual, but he was far too upset to do such a thing, but these men just deserved to die in his opinion. He hated murdering people, as it took away their right to freedom. "They made the _Wench_ a blackbird." Several members of the crew flinched at such a pronouncement. Others scarcely seemed to care. The slave trade was lucrative, even if a third of the cargo was generally lost in the voyage over to the Caribbean. Slavers, who sailed on ships commonly called blackbirds, would stuff their holds full of the human chattel in order to maximize their profits. A good, strong slave would sell for quite a lot of money.

Inside the hold reeked of feces, urine, and death. Five men were jammed into a temporary berth that could scarcely fit one man to Jack's left. The other temporary berths were just as stuffed. The ones full of children had at least ten. The slaves were shackled to each other at the ankle, unable to move or really breathe. Those who had died already were chained to the living. There was hardly any food in the hold and next to no water. The water that was available was fetid. Jack's jaw tightened as his fist clenched. He looked toward Tannar and Killian. "Turn around. Back to Gorée."

"Cap'n…is that really the bes' port?" Tannar asked as he stepped around something on the floor he really didn't want to get his boots in. "They'll jus' end up in the market again."

"Then take us back t' some place in Africa," Jack snapped. "Fairly far from Gorée. I will not 'ave slaves on my ship." He looked toward the men and women shackled to the temporary berths as Tannar quickly turned around to give the order for them to turn around. "Get these chains off," he ordered, whirling about to face his crew. "Any able-bodied men tha' want to join us in the crew are welcome to do so. Feed the children firs' and then the women. An' clean this mess up."

He walked back to the Frenchmen and retrieved the key from the smaller one, unlocking all of the chains. The men had been rather economical in their use of locks, for all the chains were only on two locks. It made it easy for Jack to get them freed quickly. As many of his men just watched, he pulled the chains back and freed a whole row lying at about the level of his head. Then he started helping the dark-skinned people down. Many of his crew had never even seen a person with skin that color. Others thought they were despicable and moved to one side, anxious to not be accidentally touched. A very tall and thin black man with intricate tattoos was the first of the slaves to actually stand. He looked at the bodies of his former captives in disgust before reaching up to help the others of his tribe down. The slaves came from all over Africa, and there seemed to be a feeling of animosity between the differently dressed tribes, as though each were blaming the others for their current situation.

"Do any of ye speak English?" Jack asked hopefully, helping a frightened little girl off the bunk next. She was wearing hardly anything and was probably somewhere between six or seven. She stared at Jack for a moment or two, clutching onto his hand desperately. He gently removed her hand and then reached up to help the next person. "Anyone at all?"

_Jack pointed triumphantly at the little girl. "Doesn' this count for something?" he inquired of Pearl, who still looked rather upset. "I saved her from slavery."_

"_Yes, and you stole her ship from her," Pearl pointed out, still scowling._

"_I did?" Jack raised one of his eyebrows in disbelief as he looked at the girl. "Oh. I did," he said rather flatly as recognition dawned in his dark eyes. "Tha's Anamaria."_

"_Yes, it is."_

"_I din' know that she was directly from Africa."_

"_She was captured again a few weeks after you left her there and taken to a family in the Caribbean. They taught her English, and her mistress allowed her to learn to read a little. She ran away aboard the _Jolly Mon_ after her master's son tried to rape her. You ran into her about a year after that."_

"_Huh." Jack had never bothered asking her about her past. Of course, he'd never bothered asking anyone about their pasts, really._

"Little," the giant replied with a grunt. He had been chained next to a corpse for the past day and really wasn't in the mood for speaking to a white man who'd probably had something to do with this.

"Good." Jack looked at the man, who appeared to have been beaten and starved before being brought aboard his ship. "Tell them not to worry. They'll be fed an' all the dead ones will 'ave proper burials. I'm taking you all back to your homes. And that I'd gladly welcome anyone aboard my ship as a member of the crew." The words came out of his mouth with the speed of hurricane-force winds.

The man just stared at him, obviously not comprehending. "I speak little," he grunted, motioning something very small with his large arms. He was generally a man of very few words in his native language.

Jack sighed. "Right. Well, then, tell them they'll be home shortly." He spoke slowly and clearly articulated every syllable.

The man nodded and said something in his native tongue, his voice deep and almost soothing. All of the slaves looked at him for a moment, and it seemed as though the invisible feeling of unavoidable doom they'd been experiencing stopped abruptly. The white captain wasn't planning on killing them all as many had thought. Many had been in slave yards for several months simply waiting for Cutler Beckett's appointed ship. Beckett had purchased the best of the slaves to take to the Caribbean for as hefty a profit as possible. Jack couldn't wait to see the look on his face when he learned that his "precious" cargo had all died en route to the Caribbean. At least, that was what he was _planning_ to tell the man. If Beckett learned the truth, Jack would likely be killed for insubordination. At the very least, he would become one of Beckett's enemies. That was not a position he wished to be in. Beckett was siphoning off power from key members of the East India Company through subterfuge and other techniques and could, potentially, make life difficult for Jack. He wouldn't be able to trade in India if he were blacklisted. And he most certainly wouldn't be able to supplement his income from Beckett's personal pocketbook.

"Thank you," Jack said appreciatively, once the man was finished speaking. He glared at some of his crew until they started escorting the children and women up to the galley. He then glanced up at the giant. "You're welcome t' join my crew. Wiv pay."

The man simply glared as a response. Perhaps he doubted that Jack would actually pay someone of his race. Or perhaps he hadn't understood a word the captain had said, and had actually told the rest of the slaves that Jack was about to chop them all up and bake them into pies.

Jack looked at him warily for a moment before looking back at the other slaves. They looked terrified of him. But they would not be slaves on some vast sugar plantation in a few months because of him. That was all that mattered—their blood would not be on his hands.

"_Don't I get a good mark on my record for saving them from being slaves?" Jack asked anxiously._

_Pearl nodded slightly as the scales appeared. To Jack's relief, the fact that he'd saved all of the slaves tipped the scales back toward the good side as glowing white stones appeared on the opposite side._

"_Thank you."_

_Pearl smiled slightly in response, but didn't say anything. She was still obviously upset that he'd been so nonchalant about murdering someone. Up until this point, Jack had only killed people while defending his own life. Such a thing wasn't as bad as deliberately going around shooting people for the fun of it._

"_What happened t' him?" Jack asked, pointing toward the one that had helped translate what he'd said. "I mean, I know tha' he was on my crew during the mutiny…was he cursed?"_

_She merely nodded._

_Jack sighed softly. "Look, I'm sorry."_

"_About what?"_

"_Maybe it _was_ bad for me to jus' kill that man."_

_Pearl looked into his eyes for a second and then frowned. "Jack, there's no point in you trying to apologize if you don't mean it. You just want to hear what happened to Kaman."_

"_Well, yeah—"_

"_Barbossa made him bosun. He was hung with the rest of the crew in Port Royal, save Ragetti and Pintel."_

"_How did those two escape?"_

_Pearl shrugged, the look in her eyes saying far more than her words could. She was disappointed in Jack. It physically hurt the captain to look at her. He looked away, wondering if he should be ashamed of his actions after all. As he thought, the scene jumped and started up again._

"Wha's our plan o' action?" Tannar was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees as his hands held up his head. He looked exhausted. Of course, the older man was suffering from fever, headache, and joint pains—he had been since Jack gave the order to turn the _Wench_ around. Jack was having a hard time not staring at the man's ridiculously swollen lymph nodes. Out of sympathy for his first mate, Jack had decided to hold a meeting with his officers in Tannar's cabin. Tannar was lying down, staring at his foot. Jack was sitting near the head of Tannar's bed. And Killian was down at the foot of the bed.

"I'm not entirely sure," Jack admitted, glancing away from Tannar to look at Killian, just so he didn't stare. Killian had assured the entire crew that Tannar was just a little under the weather and would be up on his good leg in no time, which gratefully meant that Jack shortly wouldn't have to worry about not staring at the lumps on the back of the man's neck.

"Perhaps it would be wise for us to return to England," Killian suggested, unabashedly staring at the ill man across from him. "Beckett is going to find out, sooner or later, what has happened."

"Aye, 'e pro'lly will," Tannar agreed, not liking the look of disrespect on Jack's face. He wasn't so sure he agreed with Jack's decision to take the slaves back, or that he'd allowed three of them to join the crew. There was no sense in doing something to upset the man that gave you a favorable percentage of money for the goods he needed disposed of. As far as contracts went, Tannar personally thought the crew of the _Wicked Wench_ had it fairly good. "An' it'll pro'lly annoy 'im less to hear it from the captain than from the slavers waitin' fer the cargo."

Jack pulled a face, sticking out his tongue slightly at the thought of actually being held responsible for what he'd done. The past five nights had been wretched for the captain. He could scarcely sleep because he wasn't sure he'd done the right thing or not.

"Do you have enough to cover the cost of the slaves?" Killian asked helpfully, sensing Jack's aversion to the thought. "Beckett is above all else a greedy man, and if you were to give him the cost of the slaves and more, his anger might be mitigated." The surgeon felt it was his duty to offer advice to the rather inexperienced captain. He hoped to mould Jack into a person fairly similar to Captain Odell.

"Not quite," Jack answered frankly, rubbing at his forehead with his hand. He felt like a double-sided creature, unable to make up his mind on anything of importance any longer. If he went in to tell Beckett what he'd just done, he risked losing everything. If he didn't, he risked being responsible for the death of his crew and the destruction of his ship. Jack wasn't entirely sure how ruthless Beckett could be when he didn't get his way, but he most certainly didn't want to find out. "But you're probably right."

"So it's t' Liverpool then, is it?" Tannar asked with a yawn, scratching at his hand. He had an itchy scab from the bite of a fly while they were in Gorée. Africa had most certainly not agreed with him, and he had no intention of ever going back.

Jack nodded slowly. "Aye," he replied, feeling as though his voice was not his own. He was probably sealing his fate, whatever it may be, with that small word. "Liverpool."


	21. Chapter Twenty: The Brand

Disclaimer: I don't have permission to be writing this story. Or using these characters. Sadly. These get really repetitive, don't they?

_Author's Note (4/27/07)_: Well…here's one of those extremely pivotal chapters that I've been thinking about practically since starting this story last July. I hope you enjoy it. It's recently been brought to my attention that I've a proclivity for leaning on the violent side…which is true. So, I'm sorry if violence offends any of you. I'm not really a fan of it. Except for in my writing, apparently. Can't buckle a good swash without sword fighting. And one can't be accurate to life without death occurring. So…yeah. Hope you enjoy this. And that you leave me a review.

**Chapter Twenty: The Brand**

To say that Jack was nervous was an understatement. The _Wicked Wench_ was safely anchored near the docks in Liverpool. He could see the offices of the East India Company staring back at him, nestled amongst the various warehouses they used to store goods before being sold in the marketplaces of all England. Beckett was likely waiting there, busy going over some form or another. Jack really didn't want to go and face up to him. The only thing he could offer him of real value would be his complete loyalty, but he didn't see how he could get that onto the bargaining table as he'd been disloyal while taking those slaves back. Most of the crew had already disembarked from the vessel, anxious to get away from the stench that was still in the hold of the _Wench_—Jack planned on having it thoroughly cleaned after his meeting with Beckett. If Beckett wouldn't inevitably learn that the _Wench_ was in Liverpool well before she should be, Jack would be tempted to wait a few days in taverns bolstering his courage with rum. However, Beckett would probably shortly be informed by the harbormaster that the merchant ship had returned. The longer he waited, the more cowardly he would appear.

Sighing, he looked away from the port, toward the stairs leading down below. He could take at least five minutes to go and visit his first mate. Tannar hadn't left bed since they'd left the coast of Africa several weeks previously. He'd been asleep more than he'd been awake for the entire voyage. Killian kept insisting that the illness would pass of its own accord, but Jack was starting to think that wasn't the case. He intended to consult a few other surgeons on the side, to see what they thought, as soon as his interview with Beckett was over. It was a legitimate excuse to put off the inevitable, so he almost immediately started down the stairs to say goodbye to his first mate.

He found Tannar sleeping. Normally, he would have just let the man sleep, but he wanted to reassure himself that what he was doing was the right thing, so he shook Tannar's shoulder. "Oi, Tannar," he said in the voice he usually used when discussing things of importance. It was harsher than his normal tone of voice, as he wanted his orders to be followed, but it wasn't anything alarming.

Tannar's eyes slowly fluttered open. The man frowned when he recognized Jack. "Wha'?" he asked sharply, curbing an impulse to hit the captain.

Jack paused for a moment. He'd never heard Tannar sound so irritated. Generally, the one-legged first mate was quite easy-going. "Er—do you need anything from town? We're in Liverpool."

"No." Tannar closed his eyes again, rolling over in bed. His hand brushed against something furry in bed with him. His eyes opened again. "Thatcher," he said angrily, brushing a gigantic rat off his bed with a flick of his wrist. "Ruddy rat." Apparently the _Wench_ did have a rat problem. If he was still captain after this afternoon, Jack would buy a cat to help alleviate the problem. He hated cats, which was probably why there was such a bad rat problem in the first place. Most ships traveled around with several feral cats to keep the rat population low, but Jack never did replace the ones that had died after Odell's death.

"_That's an enormous rat," Pearl remarked, pointing at the creature that had been sharing the bed with Tannar._

"_That it is," Jack agreed, wrinkling his nose. Rodents weren't very high on his list of animals he liked. They ranked slightly higher than cats, below monkeys, and somewhere on par with rabbits. He looked to his former first mate and sighed. "Poor man. D' ye know what he was suffering from?"_

_Pearl nodded, kneeling down to get a better look at the rat. "He's really rather adorable up close."_

_Jack looked at her curiously. Of all the women in the world he'd met, he would have guessed she'd be just as afraid of rats as most the other ones. "How do you know he's a he?"_

"_Same way I know that Tannar was suffering from the Sleeping Death. Picked it up in Africa." She shrugged slightly, reaching out to touch the rat. Her hand went through it, of course. She looked up at Jack and frowned slightly. "Drat. I was hoping I could hold it."_

_Jack shook his head slightly. "I thought this was just a visual representation of my memories."_

"_It is," she replied with a dismissive air. "But I still think he's adorable. Besides…sometimes it's a good thing to test the boundaries of our perceived realities."_

"_I'll keep that in mind."_

"_Good." She smiled slightly, standing up._

"Tannar—" he started, allowing some of his anxieties creep out in his voice. He was interrupted by the man's snores. He sighed and shook his head, looking at the ill man for a few moments before deciding there was no point in bothering him further. Hopefully he would be well, soon, for he didn't exactly want to find a replacement. He trusted Tannar with his life, and he wasn't afraid of sounding stupid by asking him questions. "Wake up."

The man's snores continued uninterrupted, even when Jack started shaking him on the shoulder again. Frustrated, he went so far as to steal the man's red and white sash from his grasp. The first mate generally slept with it like a small child did with a favorite toy. Jack thought the practice was ridiculous, but Tannar said it brought him good luck, and that it could serve as a blanket in cooler weather. The fabric was rough and already rather faded from the sun. "Fine. I'll jus' take this, then," he said, trying to rouse the man from his slumber. He tied it around his waist, feeling very much like a woman wearing a sari for the first time. It was a very long and narrow piece of fabric. "I'm wearing your sash," he said loudly, trying to tempt Tannar from the realm of dreams to take it back. Tannar didn't even move. Sighing, Jack decided he needed to face the inevitable. "Fine," he said exasperatedly. "But I'm keeping the sash until you wake up."

With that, he pivoted around and swaggered out of the cabin, climbing the stairs to reach the main deck like a man condemned to death—his shoulders were sloped downward and the fluid balance he'd acquired over the years after his mugging seemed to be missing. Instead, he merely looked as though he was having a hard time walking. Each step was slow and deliberate.

Even with the care he was taking in walking, it didn't take him long to reach the offices of the East India Company in Liverpool. They were housed in a fairly large building with a respectable front door. The offices were in good repair; the foliage nearby was well-tended and green. The inside of the building was tastefully decorated, though Jack wasn't entirely a fan of the large map painted on the far wall. There were too many blank spots in the world. Plus, the level of detail was far from minute and couldn't really be used as anything other than a general reference. Jack loved the detail his sailing charts offered as he traveled about. If he had discovered he had perpetual seasickness, he probably would have apprenticed with a cartographer.

Jack caught a whiff of tea and crumpets on the air as he stood, uncomfortably, in a place where he clearly did not belong. His eccentric hairstyle, kohl, and rather unique apparel were as incongruent to the office as Beckett would be covered in mud while wrestling a large swan. No one was in the front foyer, so Jack assumed they were all having a sit-down for tea. He could hear the faint noise of china on china in the next room as he slowly took a seat in a burgundy chair. The men in this building likely controlled most of the market in India. As they were able to bring highly-sought-after goods to England, they had quite the influence on the king. Jack hated to think what would happen once they'd tired of the Orient. He knew the Indian people weren't particularly fond of the Company's presence, even if they appeared to love the Company in public. The chance of England exerting power on that large nation indefinitely was minute.

As he sat, Jack tried to breathe in a calming way. The best way to end up dead in a situation such as this was to allow panic to set in. Beckett was a reasonable man, provided you had leverage, and generally followed his word. So, if Jack could find something as leverage, he would be fine. He hoped. As he waited, he drummed his finger along the soft velvet arm of the chair. The Company officials certainly lived in as much opulence as some of the pirates Jack had heard about. Personally, he thought there was a point where throwing money at expensive things became rather pointless. There was too much going on in the room to look at it for long.

The door to the adjacent room opened slowly, creaking ominously as it did so. Jack sat up a bit straighter in his chair, throwing out his chest simultaneously to appear more at ease than he really was. The first man out of the room was a rather morose-looking gentleman with a glint in his eyes that seemed to say he was as out of place as Jack, even if he was dressed to fit. His dark hair was pulled back, and he stood rather defensively as soon as he noticed Jack. Beckett followed. Had Jack not been in such a potentially deadly situation, he would have laughed at the look on the man's face upon spotting Jack sitting calmly in the chair. Beckett looked as though he were seeing a ghost. "Captain Sparrow," he said somewhat uneasily, though he quickly regained his normal expressionless demeanor, "You're back rather early."

"I am," Jack agreed. He was back about half a year too early, actually. He started to stand, but Beckett motioned for him to keep sitting as he stepped away from the door.

"Did you run into complications with the cargo?" Beckett asked anxiously as he walked toward the chair to face Jack as several other men came out of the room. Urgency filled his voice like a pail lowered into a well. The cargo was worth a lot of money. And the favor he was doing for the person who actually owned the cargo was worth a lot more.

"People aren't cargo, mate." Seeing Beckett's puzzled look, Jack clarified, "I liberated the cargo off the coast o' Africa three days after picking it up."

"You what?" he asked sharply, his voice as sharp as a scorpion's sting and as loud as a drunkard's. The other officials looked at Beckett disapprovingly as he desperately tried to gain control of his flaring emotions and nostrils. The sedate and sneering look on Beckett's face gradually returned. "Captain Sparrow, would you kindly accompany me to my office?" Though phrased as a question, Jack knew it was really an order. He had an overwhelming desire to just bolt out of the office, get aboard his ship, and never return. It was a compliment to his courage that he stood and followed Beckett to the relative quiet of his office. They were accompanied by the man who'd stepped out of the other room first.

_Pearl glanced over at Jack and smiled, taking his hand in hers. Apparently she'd forgotten how upset she'd been with him for killing the Frenchmen aboard the _Wench_. Either that, or she just felt compelled to reach out to him. He had a very curious look on his face, as though he were watching something he really didn't want to watch but couldn't help but watch. "You were quite brave."_

_The corners of Jack's mouth folded into a frown as he glanced back at the vivacious and lovely Pearl. "Not really."_

"_Most people with an easy choice of not taking responsibility for the consequences of actions choose the easy route. You chose the correct one by coming back. Just like you did when choosing to return to your crew before your death."_

_Jack laughed somewhat bitterly. "Odd for a pirate t' have an honest streak."_

"_A bit, yes. But that's what makes you such a good man."_

_Jack was silent for a moment. "Pearl…do you mind if we jus' watch the rest of this without saying anything?" he asked softly._

"_Alright." She smiled, stepping nearer to him. The scales appeared briefly and the balance changed slightly, but they disappeared before Jack could tell whether it was in his favor or not._

Inside the office was garishly decorated. There was another map of the world on one of Beckett's walls. Bits of parchment were tacked onto various locations on the map, probably as a reminder as to favors and blackmail he had to carry out. Beckett's desk was polished enough that Jack could see a reflection of the ceiling in it. The chair behind it was large and domineering. Jack personally thought that Beckett had a chair that large in order to compensate for his height. It was a large office, showing how important Beckett had become to the Company since traveling from India six years previously. The walls were adorned with various mementoes of that country, in addition to some of the treasures men under his command had found in their travels. Everything in the office screamed that Beckett had power, influence, and fairly bad taste in decorating. Even the flames from the fire in the large fireplace on the wall next to the one with the map seemed gaudy.

"Shut the door, Mercer," Beckett snapped. The thug immediately did as he was ordered, taking care to close the door quietly as the other key officials in the Company walked past to go to their own offices. Beckett stepped very near to Jack, somehow appearing quite intimidating despite his small stature. "That cargo was of infinite importance. Did I not make my instructions implicitly clear? The cargo was to have reached my contact in Portobello within the next month or…" He trailed off for a moment. "Do you even have any ability to comprehend what you've done?" His voice was aghast as it hit _him_ as to what this all meant. He paled and then became a color similar to the red in Tannar's sash. He was in such a fury that droplets of spit escaped from his mouth with every syllable. "You've ruined me." He looked very much like he wanted to hit Jack.

The captain put up his index finger. "Not true," he protested quickly, keeping his own voice as even and convincing as he possibly could. This wasn't going according to plan. "I've got enough to—"

"This isn't about the profit," Beckett said icily. "Captain Bledsoe is a very influential man in the Company, and that cargo was a gift to him." He glared at Jack for a moment. This setback could cost him years of hobnobbing, lobbying, and subversive tactics. Beckett still needed to gain the favor of some of the more influential men in the Company, and this was supposed to have helped with that. He'd reached a point where he couldn't add to his power without siphoning it from others.

"Maybe he doesn't even like slaves," Jack said, hopefully, as Beckett very obviously started to plan how he was going to get revenge on Jack. He didn't like the look in the man's eyes, nor the fact that he actually saw the man's eyebrow quiver for the first time in his acquaintance with the fellow.

Beckett just scowled at that comment. "Mercer, we have a pirate in our midst," the rather upset man announced, stepping away from Jack. Beckett had never been a fan of getting his own hands dirty. "I suggest you arrest him." It seemed a plan to salvage some of this day had just cemented in his mind.

"Yes, sir," Mercer replied. The man had been silent until now, but he'd already grabbed a pair of irons, anticipating Beckett's final decision. Jack started to draw his sword. He had no intention of being arrested for something he didn't do. Mercer was far too quick, however. He whipped out a knife and pressed it against Jack's chest. "I'm going t' cut you up if ye do tha'," he hissed. He sounded very honest with that threat. Jack wisely stopped, placing his hands in front of him in a gesture of surrender. Mercer then shackled the man's wrists, pressing them together as close as he could. There was no way to slip out of them.

"Thank you, Mercer," Beckett said, recovered from his battle with anger. He looked at Jack coldly for a moment. "Let's go for a walk, shall we?" With that, he stepped out the door. Mercer pointed his knife into Jack's back, forcing him to follow. They reached the main foyer. It was now full of various agents of the Company getting back to work after their brief break for tea. "I need several of you to accompany me on a mission of extreme importance," Beckett announced. Seven men leapt up at once, grabbing a few weapons. They were all anxious to climb further in the Company as well, and everyone knew that it was only a matter of time before Beckett had what he wanted. It would be wise for them to all get into his graces now. Two of the seven grabbed Jack roughly by the arms after Beckett motioned toward him. The other five followed Beckett and Mercer out the door.

Beckett led the group toward the docks, stopping near the _Wicked Wench_. "She's a finely crafted ship," he remarked, shaking his head slightly. "Pity she is of no further use." With that, he looked toward the group of men. "Torch it." It would be incredibly easy for them to do such a task, and several men stepped forward with glee. The _Wench_ carried powder, of course, and ships were just tinderboxes waiting for the smallest spark to ignite them as it was.

"No!" Jack yelled, lunging forward. It was too late. Four agents of the Company loyal to Beckett were already climbing the gangplank. "Beckett, stop!" He could scarcely think. Life seemed to be moving both incredibly fast and slow. "There's—"

Beckett, who was standing nearby, whirled around and punched Jack in the stomach. He looked extremely pleased with himself when he saw the look of pain on Jack's face. "I suggest you say nothing further, Captain. Now is not the time to try to gain my favor."

Jack mutely stared at the man, surprised he'd resorted to physical violence. The punch hadn't hurt that much, but it had been unexpected enough to hurt more than it should have. He struggled, trying to free himself from his captors again. He couldn't just watch the _Wench_ burn without a fight. She meant far more to him than even he realized, not to mention the fact that Tannar was still on board. The more he struggled, the tighter his captors held onto him. Mercer stepped back behind him, pressing his knife at the nape of Jack's neck. If Beckett hadn't wanted Jack to watch this, he probably would have killed the man.

Aboard the _Wench_, two of the men had lowered a sail and cut the anchor line. Once the _Wench_ started burning, they didn't want the flames to jump to the city. Not only would it be reminiscent of the Great Fire of London, but it would likely lead to punishment from Beckett if the offices of the Company were torched. The other two were below deck, laying out a fuse of powder toward all the stores of ammunition and powder, as well as toward the rum locker. Once they were finished with that, one lit it with his flintlock pistol. They ran up above deck, and all four agents jumped out overboard, into the water, swimming toward the docks. An unfortunate gust of wind filled the sails. The _Wench_ was floating serenely out to sea.

As they climbed up onto the docks, Jack started to struggle with more vigor, ignoring the stab of pain from Mercer's blade. He had to do something. If he could get into the water, he could swim to the _Wench_ and extinguish the fuse before it made it to the stores of powder and ammunition. The blade of the knife was digging into his skin. His shackled hands made it difficult to have any leverage to try and get away. "This is madness!" he spat angrily, along with several cusswords.

"This is brilliance," Beckett countered. The _Wench _was nearly to the entrance of the harbor. Right then, the kegs of powder in the hold exploded. Starving flames leapt up, engulfing the _Wench_. One of the sails caught fire. It disintegrated, sending bits of charred sail out to sea on the wind. Some of the burning embers hit the other sails, lighting them on fire. Then the fire moved to the main mast. Another explosion rocked the ship as the rum locker exploded. A large fireball lit the darkening sky as the other masts caught on fire. The sails were gone in a matter of minutes. Jack stopped struggling. He was staring at the scene before him, dumbfounded. The fire quickly spread to engulf the entire ship as she continued to float, now a funeral pyre.

Jack couldn't look away from the grisly scene. He'd just lost everything for doing the right thing. The _Wench_ had deserved better than this. Tannar had deserved better. His crew had deserved better. Jack hadn't been good enough. He'd let his morals get in the way, and he'd stood up for his actions, and now he had nothing. There was hardly a reason to keep living any longer. His eyes burned as much as the _Wench_ was as a few unnoticed tears spilled from his eyes. She was hardly more than a log for a fireplace. As the _Wench_ started to sink, far from waterproof any longer as the fire consumed more of the hull, Jack's head fell forward. His neck was too tired to hold it up. He was too tired to do anything. He felt as though he'd been watching her burn for eternity and he couldn't bear to watch another moment of it.

Noticing that Jack's spirit had just broken, Beckett smiled. He'd decided how to fix the blunder. Jack would be blamed for stealing and selling all the slaves himself as a pirate. Beckett would watch him hang and would then send condolences to Bledsoe. He wasn't ruined—but Jack Sparrow most certainly would be. "Take him to my office," he ordered, though he stepped forward and started to lead the way.

Jack didn't even bother moving his legs as he was dragged back to the office. He scarcely even noticed when they reached it. Five of the seven agents that had helped torch the _Wench_ were waiting outside the office. Mercer and the other two were inside the office. Mercer was standing very near a large fireplace. The fire was cackling, laughing at Jack, much like the fire aboard the _Wench_. Jack's mind was numb. 'The _Wench _is gone,' kept repeating in his mind. As well as the fact that he was going to hang because he'd helped human beings retain freedom. This wasn't fair.

"Have you been informed what it is we at the East India Trading Company do to pirates? With the king's sanction, of course." Beckett opened his desk drawer, retrieving a curious apparatus. It appeared to be a cane that narrowed at the tip and then opened up into some sort of letter. It took Jack a few moments to realize that it was a branding iron. He said nothing, swallowing at the thought of where that might be put. "We've been given permission to brand pirates with a 'P' before their execution, in the very small chance they escape." He pointed toward the center of his forehead. "Right there." He smiled slightly. "Since you're such a fantastic pirate…masquerading as a cleric of the Church of England and all, I do believe that we should mark you as one in five places." He pointed to his wrists, legs, and forehead. "Just to be sure that there's no mistake when they bury your body parts separately as to what you are—after you're drawn and quartered, of course."

Beckett casually walked over to the fireplace, sticking the tip of the brand into the flames, near a large log. "It's a pity, really," he said flatly. "You were such a promising young captain, always careful to do as I asked and nothing more. It takes quite a lot of talent to do precisely what is required without wasted effort. I had such high hopes for you. I was even planning on using you as my personal captain. Now I suppose I'll just have to fill that position myself."

Jack finally raised his head again, glaring at Beckett. If only he had more power! If he had something to offer Beckett, this wouldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening. He wanted to live. He wanted to live so desperately, it hurt. He was infused with emotion and feeling again, and he felt as though he could break the manacles binding his hands together. But he had to keep Beckett from seeing that. So, he said nothing, hanging his head in a good imitation of submission.

"I do believe I'll start with your right arm," Beckett said, sounding oddly gleeful after a few very quiet minutes. The P on the branding iron was a glowing cherry red. He took it and stepped toward Jack as the agents gripped him even tighter. Their fingers were digging into his flesh. Mercer stepped forward, ripping Jack's shirtsleeve. He then grabbed Jack's arm, holding it still and fairly level. Beckett stepped forward, pressing the tip into Jack's skin. It hissed angrily for a second as Jack winced, refusing to cry out. He was more alert now than he'd ever been in his life. After what felt like an eternity, Beckett pulled it back. The letter P was clearly visible on Jack's skin in an angry red and black pattern as blisters appeared. The smell of charred flesh filled the air.

The sound of footsteps outside the office distracted them all. Beckett grinned and made one of the biggest mistakes of his life. He looked away from Jack as he started switching the branding iron between his hands. Jack, sensing that this was the only moment he had to do anything about his own fate, pushed his guards back a step or two and kicked Mercer. He staggered forward and hit Beckett, dropping his knife in the process. Beckett tossed him forward, swinging the brand away from the man as Jack hurried forward. He grabbed the hot brand in his right hand fairly near to the end. The pain hardly bothered him. He quickly maneuvered it to hold it by the handle, and jabbed at Beckett, hitting him between the legs. Beckett screeched in pain.

Jack dropped the branding iron, somersaulting onto the floor to grab the knife before either of the agents or Mercer was able to. He purposefully bumped into Mercer again, sending him to the side. Once he grabbed the handle of the knife, he looked up at the other two men trying to grab him. He merely rolled at them, forcing them to move, before standing and kicking one of the men in the side into the other.

Mercer recovered from his fall, glaring at Jack with a murderous gleam in his eyes. Beckett was on the ground, rolling. His trousers had caught fire from the intense heat. "Mercer!" he cried. That distracted Mercer enough that Jack was able to run to the door. He burst out of the office, barreling through the remaining five agents of the Company, slashing with the knife. Once he'd made it past them, he ran with his hands out in front of him to keep from falling. He made it out the door without further complications.

Once outside, he glanced wildly around for a second before running to the left, toward where more of the taverns were. He didn't have very long with which to hide. Moments after he started running down the street, Mercer burst out of the door, an enraged expression on his face and a loaded double-barrel pistol in his hand. Jack noticed him, quickly turning to run between two buildings. His hands were still out in front of him. He was afraid that if he lowered them at all, he would end up tripping. Such a mistake would undoubtedly cost him his life. Beckett would now probably rip him apart with his bare hands, provided he could ever stand again. The palm of his right hand was now singed as well, though he'd grabbed the branding iron in a cooler place than the tip.

The marked man quickly found himself in the midst of an outdoor marketplace full of vendors putting their wares away for the night. Most of the customers had gone home to prepare for rest before another day of work and toil. Somewhat pleased, Jack quickly started looking for somewhere or some way to hide. There didn't seem to be any likely candidates amongst the stalls full of jewelry, food, or pottery. He was about to just continue running when he noticed a wrinkled old woman, nearly blind, putting bolts of cloth away in a corner stall next to a church. His salvation was at hand. He quickly hurried over to where she was. She'd been sitting on a piece of coarse cloth. He quickly picked that up and threw it up over his shoulders as a sort of hooded cape, bending over to resemble an old woman stricken with years. The cloth reeked of dog urine, but he didn't notice.

The woman, who was also nearly deaf, seemed infinitely surprised when she turned and saw someone else standing in her stall with her. Anger filled her expression quickly. "What are you—"

Jack whirled around and looked at her in the eye, pleading. "Sorry," he said quickly. "I won't be 'ere long." He smiled slightly.

"Are you in trouble, young man?" the matron asked, disapprovingly, though Jack could see that her face wasn't quite as stern as it had been. She obviously thought he was attractive. It was remarkable how often good looks could get him into and out of trouble.

"You could say that," Jack admitted. "I din' actually do anything wrong. The Company's lookin' for a scapegoat."

At the mention of the Company, the old woman frowned. She was having a hard time getting by because a certain Cutler Beckett had ordered she no longer be supplied with fabrics from them. She didn't charge enough of a tax, they claimed. "You can hide, son," she said simply, turning away from him.

Seconds later, Jack heard someone running in the marketplace through the stalls. He didn't turn around, but imagined it was Mercer along with some of the seven agents loyal unto death to Beckett. Jack pulled the cowl closer to his face as he pretended to be another old woman helping out his new-found friend. He blended in fairly well, and the bolts of cloth on the ground hid his boots superbly. They ran past. Jack's heart seemed to be pounding in his chest. As the din of the agents lessened, he hunched next to a bolt of cloth, trying to just breathe.

"I think they're gone," the woman said kindly, glancing over at Jack. He looked terribly uncomfortable hunched over the way he was. Of course, she had no idea that most of the pain was coming from his brand and his burned palm. "You can leave."

Jack looked at her appreciatively. "Thank you," he said, surprised he even had the ability to still speak. He was suddenly exhausted, but he couldn't do anything about it. His hands were still bound together. He had no money. And he had no idea where his crew was, or if any of them would be even remotely sympathetic toward him. He now saw that it had been a mistake to set those people free, even if it had been the right thing to do.

The woman seemed to sense his sudden emotional turmoil now that his life wasn't in immediate danger. "Do you have anywhere to go?" she asked. Jack was about the age of her youngest son. She wanted to help him in the hope that her son would be helped by someone else on his own journey.

"Not particularly," Jack responded, his voice metallic. He slowly stood up, letting the smelly cloth fall to the ground as he did so. When she saw his manacled hand and fresh brand, she gasped slightly. "I can't take advantage of your generosity longer, ma'am," he said respectfully, bowing. "Thank you."

She looked at him, halfway tempted to offer him somewhere to at least stay the night…but she knew that it would be too much of a risk for both of them. "Good luck, son," she said softly. He nodded to her, dashing in the opposite direction of where the agents had gone. If he could just find Killian, he'd probably be able to get these manacles off his hands. Killian likely had some sort of surgical instrument that would work as a good lock-picking tool.


	22. Chapter Twenty One: The Deal

Disclaimer: I still don't have permission to be writing this, mate.

_Author's Note (5/19/07)_: Yes, yes, I know it's been another long wait for you, my faithful readers. I'm sorry. I hope you enjoy this chapter (even if it is incredibly long). And that you're still kind enough to leave a review for me. You certainly don't have to agree with what Pearl and Jack talk about in this chapter. Once again, it isn't my intention to force a change of thinking upon anyone.  
In other news...I can't wait for _At World's End_! By this time next week, I plan to have seen it at least four times. I don't know if I'll be able to update between now and then...I hate it when I'm proven wrong, after all. But we'll see.

**Chapter Twenty-One: The Deal**

By the time Jack reached the tavern he was fairly sure that Killian was staying in, he realized that he probably would be captured and turned in for bounty if he stepped inside the premises. It was obvious enough that he was running away from some branch of the law, what with his manacled hands, the wild look in his eyes, and his brand new pirate brand. And people had a habit of wanting to get easy money. He didn't have the strength to protect himself against several people out to claim a reward. His eyes felt as though they were burning, and the only relief for that was for him to close his eyes. So, he decided to wait for his surgeon to come out to him.

It was nearing ten o'clock when he found a place to hide in an alleyway near the tavern that smelled of urine and feces, presents of numerous drunkards unburdening themselves before heading home months, weeks, and days previously. There was a great deal of rubbish in the alley as well. Jack skirted past some of it and found a mercifully mostly-clean wall to lean against. Exhausted, he crouched next to it. He closed his eyes, merely intending to rest them for a moment. He fell asleep almost instantly.

_Pearl looked over at Jack somewhat anxiously. "Do you want to talk about this?" she questioned._

_He shook his head quickly. "Not really," he answered honestly. The very serious look on his face slowly started to disappear as he glanced away from the representation of himself toward Pearl. "I probably should, right?"_

_She nodded slightly. "You are arguing your case here," she reminded him gently._

"_Well…I think I handled myself relatively well. I din' deserve the treatment I got from Beckett."_

"_Had it not happened, however, things would be very different, Jack. Do you really think you would've been content working for the Company indefinitely?"_

_He shook his head quickly. "Especially not for Beckett." He sighed. "Is it bad for me to still hate him?"_

_She looked away from him for a moment. "Yes," she answered very slowly. "But I'm not holding it against you."_

"_This is wha' I don't understand about religion, Pearl. How are we supposed t' forgive the people who ruin our lives?" This was the primary reason he'd never found religion or a concept of God all that appealing. What sort of divine being would allow such wretched things to happen to him and to others he cared about? Tannar didn't have a chance to save his own life._

_She stood silently as she turned her gaze to Jack's again. They had both been trying to avoid a conversation like this; Jack didn't want to learn that he was seeing things wrong and Pearl didn't want to cause contention. But she knew she had to say something. "How would you have it, then?"_

"_People would pay for precisely what it is they've done. The more they've hurt another person, the more they've made tha' other person hates them, the more they suffer."_

"_Where would be the justice in that, Jack? The mercy? If we did things the way you just proposed, you would have no chance of going back. How many people do you think hate you?"_

_The question surprised him. "Thirty?"_

_She shook her head. "Jack, you've been responsible for the death of more than that number. You're forgetting about all the women you've abandoned. The marriages you've ruined. The children you've forsaken without even realizing it. The men you've robbed of their livelihood. Martha, when you ran away from home."_

_He put up his hand. "That isn't fair. I din' know what I was even hurting some of those people."_

"_If men were judged based on the hatred other men had toward them, no one would reach paradise. No one goes through life without hurting other people." She gently caressed his hand. "It isn't our place to judge one another based on what they've done to us, because how can we expect ourselves to receive different treatment when we're all essentially hurting each other?"_

_Jack sighed softly, looking away from her. It still didn't seem fair. "You have a point," he conceded. "Bu' who is it that gets to judge? Some sort of punishment mus' be dealt."_

"_It is." The simple assurance seemed to surprise Jack. She smiled at him. "But we haven't the time to talk about this now, Jack. Surely things get better." She leaned up and kissed him tenderly._

A tap on his shoulder immediately brought the captain from his mercifully dreamless sleep. "Jack," a familiar voice said, dripping with concern. "What happened?"

Jack blinked a few times, adjusting to the light from the moon and stars filtering down into the alleyway. He looked to the source of the voice and smiled very slightly as he recognized who it was. Killian had found him. He opened his mouth to reply, but found he couldn't form the words. If he did, it would mean that the _Wench_ really was gone. "How'd you find me?" he asked instead.

Killian turned slightly, pointing up toward a window on the second floor of the tavern. "That's my room. I saw someone stumble into the alleyway and decided to investigate. Never thought it would be you." He frowned slightly at Jack. "What happened? Where's Tannar? Are you drunk?"

Jack shook his head slightly, holding his manacled hands out. "Can you do anything t' get these off?" He was almost amused by the look of shock on Killian's face. Undoubtedly, there were a million different scenarios running through the surgeon's mind as to what had led to this. It was a credit to Killian's character that he merely pulled out his black bag full of surgical instruments he carried with him everywhere and started to pick the lock. "I really should learn t' do this meself."

"Yes," Killian agreed, popping the left one off. "Lock picking is a valuable skill." He quickly took off the right one, frowning as he noticed how much the metal had dug into Jack's wrists. "Those were on very tight."

"Yes," Jack agreed, rubbing at one of his wrists. The right was one bleeding. Bits of his flesh clung to the metal manacles now on the ground where they belonged—in the rubbish pile. "Very tight."

"What happened?" Killian asked again, gasping as he caught sight of Jack's brand. He grabbed the man's right hand and pulled off his dark red sash he used as a belt to complete his somewhat macabre ensemble. He wrapped it around Jack's wrist and the brand. He frowned as he noticed the burn on the captain's palm. "You know, if you had listened to me about the rawhide all those years ago, this wouldn't be here," he remarked, wishing he had some way to clean this all up better. "Jack—what happened?"

"I…" Jack looked at Killian, suddenly unable to speak again. He felt as though he were going to wake up at any moment. He _needed_ to wake up. This couldn't be real.

Killian sighed softly. "Who did this?"

"Beckett," Jack answered simply, an unusual look on his face. He tried to explain what had happened, but discovered that he still simply couldn't find the words he needed. So, instead, he stood up once Killian had tied the sash on securely. Killian stood erect as well. "Come on," Jack said, his voice low and terse. With that, he started walking. He was dizzy and almost toppled over as he was hit with how real the world suddenly seemed. His feet seemed to be moving of their own accord. He reached the docks before he even realized they'd left the alleyway behind. Killian was trailing, having a hard time keeping up with Jack's brisk pace. He stopped right next to the edge of the dock, staring at the empty ocean where the _Wench_ had been.

Killian caught up a few moments later. "Jack…" He was staring at the curiously empty water as well. "What happened to the ship?"

Jack felt an odd shiver down his spine as he looked toward where he remembered seeing her burn. "She's screaming," he murmured, putting a hand to one of his ears to try and drown out the sudden shrill noise. It didn't work.

"Who is?" Killian asked, looking at Jack as though he'd just started spouting off lines from Shakespeare. He glanced around on the docks, hearing nothing. There most certainly wasn't a woman nearby screaming. It was nearly eleven o'clock, and clouds had just drowned out the light from the stars and moon. It was probably going to start raining.

"The _Wench_," Jack replied, sounding annoyed as he looked at his surgeon. "Can't you hear her? She's been screaming since she…" He trailed off, looking back at the water.

"What happened, Jack?" Killian asked anxiously, sounding frustrated with Jack's odd behavior. "Did Beckett do this too?"

Jack nodded solemnly. "Fire," he answered. His face felt as though it were burning. He looked at Killian as though he weren't actually there. "She needs help." The screams were unbearable. Without warning, he jumped into the water. The screaming seemed to lessen once he was in the cool waters. He felt like a helpless child again, a child who had just been beaten for doing something better than his parent could. The saltwater stung his wrists and brand, but he scarcely noticed.

"Jack!" Killian yelled loudly. "Jack Sparrow! Come back up here. There's nothing you can do." Like many sailors, Killian didn't know how to swim. The water was seen as the playground of the devil. Killian didn't believe in superstitions, but he didn't see the point of learning how to swim. It didn't seem like a practical skill and it most certainly didn't seem as though it would ever be useful in any situation other than this one.

Jack ignored Killian. He could scarcely hear him over the screams of the _Wench_. They were louder now, growing in intensity as he swam to where he remembered seeing her go down. She couldn't be alone right now. She needed him. He needed to get part of her so that she could rest in peace and would stop screaming. He would take part of her figurehead and then she would stop screaming and he could figure things out from there. His ears were starting to hurt she was getting so loud.

It was too dark underneath the water to see much of anything. He swam toward the open ocean, desperately scanning the water for sign of his ship. The screaming seemed to be louder underwater. Two minutes elapsed before he was forced to surface. As soon as he could, he was back under the water. Twenty fruitless minutes passed. His head was pounding as violently as it had the day he'd first received a head injury. His lungs burned. His arms felt as heavy as ballast. He wanted to give up. But he couldn't. Her screams were stronger, now that he was near her. His ears felt ready to burst from the noise. He'd once seen a man bleed from the ear and wasn't particularly keen on having it happen to him. He was having a hard time swimming, and breathing when he surfaced.

Dejected, he decided to try one more time to locate his ship. It was raining and quite cold, given the time of year. He was freezing. Killian was nowhere in sight. If he didn't get out of the water soon, he would probably die. So, he took a deep breath and went underneath the water, desperately trying to see the _Wench_. He just couldn't leave her without trying one more time. She would do the same thing for him, if she were a person.

His heart stopped momentarily as he glimpsed one of the masts of his majestic ship. She seemed to be covered in a thick veil. The screaming abruptly stopped. The silence was deafening. He swam toward her. It took him a minute and a half to reach the figurehead. The water was deep where she'd finally sunk. He gave no thought to the return trip. The figurehead was crying. Her arm holding the bird was missing. Her wings were holey. She was a ghost.

Jack reached out toward the figurehead, caressing her cheek with a tenderness befitting any lover. "I'm sorry," he mouthed. "If anything could be done to bring you back, I would do it." His strength seemed to vanish as the darkness of the water, of his life, consumed him. She really was gone. He had nothing. He'd been so naïve in assuming she would outlast him.

He stared at her badly burned face missing several large chunks for what felt like an eternity. His lungs were screaming in protest. He needed to breathe. The air was so far away. "I would have given my very soul for you," he thought, vainly kicking toward the surface. The darkness seemed thicker, suddenly—and almost shaped like a ship, as Jack blinked. Davy Jones—or Old Hobb—someone had finally come to reclaim his soul. He was dying.

The thought panicked him enough that he kicked harder, desperate to reach the surface of the water. Another dark figure filled the water near him, a giant mass that hardly looked like anything, with several long protrusions coming from it. He was twenty feet away from the surface. Fifteen. Ten. He nearly made it when the ship-shaped phantom caught up to him. He inhaled involuntarily. Darkness overwhelmed him.

"_I'd forgotten how eerie this all was," Jack said, looking around him in the water. It was weird being able to breathe underwater, to not feel the weight of the ocean crushing down on him._

"_Could you really hear the _Wench_ screaming?" Pearl asked curiously, not bothered by their new position under water in the least._

"_Yes." Jack looked at her, somewhat surprised. "Why would I make that up?"_

_She shrugged slightly, seemingly indifferent to his response. She had curious moods like that. "I vaguely remember this place," she murmured._

"_Well, you should." He smirked. "This was both the worst an' the best day of my life." His bad mood seemed to have completely disappeared, and now he was merely excited to see what happened next in a slightly different perspective._

"Wake up, marrow-bones," a coarse voice ordered. Jack's eyes shot open as he coughed up water. What he saw prompted him to close his eyes and open them again in the hope that he was simply imagining things. A man-like figure hovered above him, laughing at his reaction. His hair appeared to be seaweed, and his face and body were covered with barnacles and mussels. "'E's still alive, Cap'n," he said next, looking away from Jack.

"Is 'e now?" asked a somewhat-gentle voice with a heavy and undeniable Scottish accent. Jack turned his head slightly to see the owner of the voice. He couldn't believe his eyes. A man-like example of very good seafood stood, flanked by various fish-like crewmembers. The captain, who'd spoken, seemed pleased to see Jack looking at him. Jack thought, at least, that his mouth was somewhat arranged into a smile. Underneath his oddly-textured face hung writhing tentacles like that of an octopus, busy twisting into all sorts of odd shapes. The rather intimidating creature had a claw on his left arm that Jack could see dimly in the limited amount of light afforded by a lit lantern on the main deck of the ship he found himself lying on. The claw was large enough to snap a man's head clean off his body, like the top of a dandelion. "Good mornin', sir," the octopus/crab man said, mockingly bowing. Jack's eyes felt as though they were the size of the mizzenmast's circumference. He had to be dreaming. "Did we," his voice was teasing, "startle ye?" He snorted with laughter as various other fishy members of his crew picked up on the cue and started laughing.

"Not really," Jack lied, struggling to sit up. He _felt_ alive, but it seemed he was dead. If this was to be his after life, he wanted to find some sort of advantage. He was sick of being under the thumb of other people. "Where am I?" he asked amidst the sniggers from the creepy crew.

"Where are me manners?" the most deformed creature, the captain, asked facetiously. "Welcome aboard the _Flying Dutchman_." He bowed grandly again, motioning about him at the barnacle-encrusted ship that was probably thousands of years old. It looked as though the sea were trying to reclaim her, along with her crew.

"The _Flying Dutchman_, eh?" Jack repeated, just to try and get the words to make sense. He'd thought the rumors were merely superstition. Honestly, the whole concept of a man falling so much in love with the sea (or a woman) so as to devote his entire life to ferrying men to the world of the dead in return for immortality was ludicrous. Either he was imagining things and was actually still asleep in that alleyway, or the impossible was truly possible. He looked at his hands for a moment, trying to piece all of this together into something that made sense. He had to keep trying to find a way to make this a good thing. "So that'd make you Davy Jones, I gather." His head was pounding, but his thoughts were remarkably clear.

"Captain Davy Jones," the curious man corrected, with a special emphasis on his title. He appraised Jack for a moment, clearly impressed that Jack had made the connection. "Who are ye?"

"_Captain_ Jack Sparrow." Now that he'd established he was, in fact, talking to the hellish captain, he felt as though he had the right to stand up for his rights, though the man was a monster. As they were both captains, the rules of negotiation came into play.

Jones smirked at the acquisition of his name. He'd heard a few things about Jack Sparrow before, but he'd never expected to come across him here. "Do ye fear death? Do ye fear that dark abyss? All your deeds laid bare, all your sins punished…I can offer you an escape."

Jack got the distinct impression that Jones said that particular line frequently. "I'm not really afraid of death," he said with a dismissive shrug. There really wasn't much point to living, as it was. He'd lost everything. And, as he wasn't dead right now, he strongly suspected that death wasn't something he needed to be afraid of, currently. "Not much point in living if there's naught t' live for, eh?"

Jones frowned slightly. It wasn't often he came across a man that wasn't impressed by the speech. Those who weren't impressed were supposed to be ferried by him to their proper resting place. Jones, however, was looking to make his crew better than it was. Some of the men he'd chosen after this task had been thrust upon him knew nothing about sailing, or had too little skill—or were becoming part of his ship. Consequently, he was in the need of a few more able-bodied men to round off his crew. So, he decided to change his tactic. "I've come to offer you yer fondest dreams in return for a hundred years of service before _my_ mast."

"My fondest dreams?" Jack frowned slightly, glancing down at his wrists again. They were stinging, suddenly. The thought of seeing the _Wench_ rescued from her watery grave was a thrilling one, and he knew immediately that was what he wanted. "Why so many years of service?"

"Would ye rather taste of death immediately?" Jones countered, stepping toward Jack. His crab leg thumped on the deck of the ship loudly. "Why _not_ forestall the final judgment for a century?"

Jack appeared to be deep in thought, as though considering what it was he wanted most in the entire world. He looked down at his pirate brand for a moment. Why not resurrect the _Wench_ and use her to match the brand? He looked up at the man, a feigned look of confusion on his face. "Let me see if I've got this right. You're offering me my fondest dream in return for a hundred years of faithful service?"

"Aye." Jones wasn't so sure he liked the way that this conversation was going, suddenly. How was it that a mere mortal such as the nearly-drowned man in front of him wasn't cowering in fear?

"Well, wha' if me fondest dream necessitates me being there t' enjoy it in its fruitation?" Jack smirked quickly, but soon regained a serious look on his face. Noting the puzzled look on most of the crew's face (particularly on the one that resembled a giant shrimp), he expounded, "I mean, immediate service t' ye for a hundred years, if, hypothetically, I decided I wanted, say, a grand estate, would rather defeat the purpose, eh? I wouldn't ever be able t' enjoy the price of my service t' ye. The estate would go t' waste, an' all I'd get for my troubles would be service under you." The look on Jones's face was frightening, so he hastily added, "Which is no doubt quite good an' tolerable. Alls I'm saying is tha' I'd much rather enjoy what it is what is my fondest dream. For a while. Temporarily. Before I gladly serve you for a hundred years, savvy?"

Jones frowned, the tentacles in his beard writhing about as he considered Jack's fairly valid point. "And?" He hardly looked impressed by all the words coming out of Jack's mouth. If anything, he looked ready to clamp his claw over the mortal's throat.

Jack was silent for a moment. "If you raise my ship from the depths an' fix her so she's the fastest ship in the world, an' let me captain her for forty years, ye can have my soul an' remarkable navigational skills for one hundred years." All eyes of the crew turned to the captain. Perhaps some of them were wishing they'd made such a proposition, all those years ago. "It's a bargain, really."

Jones shook his head, scoffing as best he could. "Forty years is too long; ye'd be an old man by the time ye came into me service. Hardly of any worth t' me, in fact."

"Thirty?" Secretly, he was pleased that Jones was arguing over this particular point of the bargain. If the _Wench_ was the fastest ship in the world, he would be able to make his brand matter. He would become the best pirate in the world, as he'd planned to do as a child.

"Ten," he said firmly.

"Ten is hardly fair," Jack protested. "If ye only give me ten, I might as well drown. Twenty."

Jones shook his head. "Ten," he insisted, his tentacles writhing far more now. He seemed to be getting upset.

"Fifteen."

Jones shook his head again. "Ten. An' yer lucky for that."

"Ten years is hardly anything." Jack reiterated, reaching for his sabre. Jones's crew tensed. He put the blade to his own throat. "Thirteen or nothing. You know tha' you need me on your crew." The look in his eyes was of utmost seriousness. Jones could tell that he meant his threat. And, aggravatingly, he knew that Jack's soul was worth the wait.

"Deal," Jones said grudgingly.

Relief filled Jack, but he quickly masked that. He was getting exactly what he wanted. "Shall we seal it in blood?" He sheathed his sword.

Jones laughed at the thought, approaching Jack with an amused-like look on his face. "Aye," he said. "One hundred years before me mast for thirteen years o' freedom an' yer precious ship." He reached out with his claw and scraped Jack's chin on the right side. Jack's eyes watered at the unexpected amounts of pain shooting through his face as Jones sealed the deal with his blood. The deal was done. "Let it be known tha' in thirteen July sevenths, Jack Sparrow will owe me 'is service or 'is soul."

"_You still have that," Pearl pointed out, reaching out and touching the open sore on Jack's face that never seemed to heal. "Does it still hurt?"_

_Jack pulled a slight face and nodded. "When people poke it, yes, it does hurt."_

"_Sorry." She hardly seemed repentant. "Why doesn't it heal?"_

_Jack shrugged. "Good question. Probably something t' do with the way I've been living over the years. I don' mind it. Like it, in fact. It was one of the things that reminded me I was practically invincible during the thirteen years I had you."_

"_Practically invincible?"_

"_Well, Jones couldn't retract 'is offer, now could he? My soul was basically unable t' be bothered with for thirteen years…I figured I couldn't die until my time was up. And I was very much right, wasn't I?" He frowned slightly. "Will I still owe my soul to Jones after they find me?"_

_Pearl looked away at this question. "I can't tell you." The tone in her voice was enough of an answer. Jack had to get rid of the deal when he got back (even if that meant taking the creature's place) or he would end up dead. Again. In his locker. If this was Jones's locker, he really didn't mind, but he had a sneaking suspicion that this wasn't his last stop before the others found him._

Jack smiled uneasily, not particularly liking that last bit. "Now, about my ship—"

Jones stepped away, noisily walking to the bulwarks of the _Flying Dutchman_. Jack cautiously followed. The rain had stopped sometime while Jack had been unconscious, but clouds covered the night sky. It was hard to see much of anything without the light of the lantern near the mainmast. Jones was muttering something in what was probably Gaelic. Though it was dark, Jack saw a flash of something moving in the water. Moments later, he barely spotted one of the masts of the _Wench_ as the clouds parted and some starlight and moonlight filtered onto the water. Strangely enough, he could also see a sail. It wasn't made of normal sailcloth, either—it was as black as the night air, and scarcely discernable. He watched in amazement as the rest of the ship appeared in perfect condition. Around the hull, he could see what appeared to be enormous shiny tentacles reflecting the moonlight. "What _is_ that?"

"Yer ship, Captain Sparrow," Jones replied with three quick snorts. Jack couldn't imagine it was easy for the creature to laugh, what without having a very discernable nose.

Jack looked at him darkly. "I meant the owner of those." He pointed toward a tentacle slipping away from his reborn ship.

"The Kraken," Jones announced with pride. He was silent for a moment, watching his favorite monster move gracefully with undisguised reverence and love similar to what one feels for a favorite pet.

"How does one go about getting a creature like it in one's employ?" Jack asked, picturing using the large creature to capture ships without wasting all the shot and powder one generally wasted in a fight.

Jones hardly looked amused with the question, taking an insult out of Jack calling it a creature. "Now then, Captain Sparrow, ye 'ave thirteen years with your _precious_ ship before I come back for your soul." He nodded slightly, and two men in his crew picked the captain up and tossed him into the water. "Good luck!" Jones yelled, with another snort of laughter.

The water seemed warm this time as he swam toward _his_ ship. He felt like he was trapped in a dream again, and was too excited to even be wary of the large creature sharing the water with him. Moments after he started swimming, the _Flying Dutchman_ silently submerged herself. "Tha's interesting," he remarked to himself, though his thoughts had already left his curious encounter with Davy Jones. It didn't matter. He had his ship.

He climbed aboard her, marveling at her pristine condition. He ran up to the helm, caressing it gently as he pictured himself as a pirate captain. She was a fine ship for pirating. He'd only have to add a few cannons. The fact that she was now jet black would make it easy for her to hide from enemies at night. She'd be able to slip in and out of ports before anyone even noticed there was a ship.

"I missed you," he said aloud, feeling as though he were greeting his true love after a year-long separation. "An' I won't let this happen to ye again, I promise." Even the smell from the bilges was gone. She was brand new. As such, Jack figured she deserved a new name. She was going to begin her life anew, same as he was. As much as he respected Captain Odell, he wanted her to be _his_ ship. A new name would make that easy. "What should I call you?" he asked, glancing across the entirety of the ship. She was the best prize ever claimed from the bottom of the sea, far more valuable than any of the shipwrecks of the Spanish galleons carrying gold back to Spain. And she'd come back thanks to the efforts of a man that was a creature of the sea. "The _Black Pearl_." As soon as he'd said it aloud, she seemed excited. He grinned broadly. Life was finally going right.

"_That's why I remember the water!" Pearl exclaimed, sounding very excited. She shivered slightly as she remembered what it had been like to be brought from below by the Kraken. Ironic that she'd been pulled down by the same creature._

"_Aye! This was the day tha' you became you." Jack smiled warmly at her. "Which is why it was the best in my life." He kissed her rather passionately._

_She pulled away from him, laughing. "I'm only a ship, Jack Sparrow."_

"_I am very much aware of this fact." Maybe he'd be able to take her with him. That would be rather enjoyable…he wanted to teach her something about humanity._

The grin faded as he realized that he was alone on the black behemoth, and that he was headed toward the open ocean at several knots, though there was scarcely any wind. "Bugger," he said with a slight frown, rushing down the stairs to climb up the rigging to strike some of the sails. He didn't want her to crash after being brought back. And he didn't want to leave until he had Killian with him. The surgeon deserved a place aboard the _Black Pearl_, if he wanted it.

It took all of his skill as a seaman, but Jack managed to get the _Black Pearl_ safely into port. He needed a crew desperately. Though it seemed like a lifetime ago, Beckett would still be looking for him, anxious to get revenge for the mark Jack had given him in exchange for his brand. Time was of the essence. He rushed down to the docks and then ran toward the tavern where Killian was staying. The sun was starting to rise.

He passed an alleyway full of mongrel dogs barking and growling at each other over something lying on the ground. The captain paused for a moment, inexplicably drawn toward the scene though he really didn't have time to stop—he was only halfway to the tavern. As he looked at the dogs squabbling, he spotted a boot. Jack knew he'd seen the boot before, so he started down the narrow alleyway. The dogs, spotting him, started barking. Most had probably been abandoned by their owners for cruelty. They were all wet from the rain, and filthy. Their fur was matted against their sleek and slender bodies, and their eyes were shining with hunger.

"Get!" he yelled, waving his arms in what he hoped was a threatening manner. A few of the more timid strays ran away yelping, but two stayed near their prize—a man. He'd been dragged by the flea-bitten dogs toward a wooden fence in the back of the alley. His face was scratched up almost beyond recognition. His hands were bloody. Behind him, on the fence, was a bloody handprint. Next to him was a bloodied block of wood with a nail in it. He'd tried to fight the dogs off unsuccessfully. The two dogs still standing next to the prize were large, the fur around their noses covered in blood.

Jack grabbed the wood with the nail in it and then started swinging at the remaining dogs, who were probably rabid. He hit the leader in the ribs, causing it to yelp in pain. The mangy mutt then darted off. His companion followed. Jack dropped the wood and kneeled next to the man, his eyes widening as it became clear that it was Killian. The surgeon was barely breathing. "What happened?" he questioned, pressing his hand to stop some of the bleeding from Killian's arm. The dogs had clawed and chewed up his right arm so that it scarcely resembled an arm anymore. They had also ripped his intestines out, and had been about to start eating them while he was still alive before Jack showed up. His small intestines resembled smoking sausages outside of his body cavity. Some of the other organs were poking up as well. Jack couldn't imagine ever seeing anyone meet a bloodier end.

"Company," Killian wheezed. "Looking for you. And the crew." Jack's jaw dropped open at this. If Killian was in this condition, then the rest of his crew likely was as well. He would just have to find a handful of men to help him get to another port to be more selective, or he'd end up dead as well. "I'm sorry."

Jack shook his head, putting his hand on Killian's mostly uninjured shoulder. "_I_'m sorry," he said softly. "I don' want to hear you apologize. Din' do nothin' wrong. I should have dropped ye off somewhere else."

Killian shook his head very slowly. He inhaled sharply, obviously in intense amounts of pain. "I was wrong. You need to be a pirate. Get ugly what's-his-face," he instructed softly. It was almost as though he were looking through Jack. Moments later, he stopped breathing.

Jack stared at the surgeon, his hands trembling. The man had saved his life more than once, and he was dead. Food for the dogs of Liverpool. He closed the fresh corpse's eyes. "Goodbye, Killian." He didn't even have time to bury him, or take him back to the _Black Pearl_ for a proper burial at sea. He needed to find a handful of men willing to work for him with no questions asked. And he needed to find a person who actually knew something about piracy. He wasn't even sure where to go to find a crew that would willingly attack other vessels for profit. He looked at his faithful surgeon for a long while and then dashed off toward the tavern again. It would be hard convincing people to come with him when he didn't have any money to offer them, but he was sure he could do it. He did have the fastest ship in the world now, after all.


	23. Chapter Twenty Two: The Quartermaster

Disclaimer: Nope. Still shouldn't be writing this.

_Author's Note (6/03/07_): I've seen _At World's End_ five times. Four times in twenty-four hours. I liked it. Mostly. I was rather disappointed in what Calypso looked like, but…ah well. Can't say much more in case some of you still haven't seen it. I've updated the chapter where Jack meets Captain Teague, if you want to reread it, so that it's more in harmony with the third movie. I realize it still doesn't quite fit, but that's alright. It is my story, after all.  
I'd like to say I shamelessly stole some of what Barbossa says from EastCoastie1500's excellent fic called "Loathsome" about Barbossa's past. And that I also stole some of her ideas in a one-piece regarding Pearl. Which you should read. It's nifty.  
I'm experimenting with the whole dialogue between Jack and Pearl…some of my readers have brought up a valid point that it often detracts from the narrative. Tell me if you prefer it solely to be at the end of the chapter. Hope you enjoy this! Bigger and better things are on the horizon.

**Chapter Twenty-two: The Quartermaster  
**

"I need a quartermaster," Jack murmured to himself as his latest reject turned away from a table he'd commandeered for the purpose of interviewing potential new crew men. So far, the pickings had been very slim indeed in Dartmouth. No one knew who Jack Sparrow was—none of them had been involved with the Company. While that meant that he wouldn't likely be taken back to Beckett, it also meant that finding a suitable crew would be difficult. Thus far, his best candidate (and the only one he was thinking of hiring) was an older man that went by Larry. He was a reasonably intelligent man, based slowly on outward appearances, and (despite a nearly sickening affection for the color green he had) seemed to be a very able-bodied man, at least suited to swab the decks. Jack had never had to hire a crew before—Keaton and Tannar had always seen to that. Of the original crew of the _Wench_, he'd only been able to find seven men that hadn't been killed by the Company: Skip, Billy, Kaman, Geoffrey, Daniel, Bob, and Drew. Of the seven of them, only Billy and Skip had much experience sailing. The rest had been recent recruits. Jack no longer had Tannar to mould them into what he was looking for. None of them were first mate material, either. Jack wasn't really looking to do everything himself.

Sighing, he drank some of his ale. He had no taste for anything other than rum, but he didn't have enough money to have anything else. The funds he did have were limited to how much he could steal from mostly-unconscious drunkards, so there really wasn't much on his person at all. So long as Larry and the other potential crewmates didn't learn that, he would be fine. He grimaced as the stuff rushed down his throat.

"I'd like t' join your crew," a voice said rather abruptly. Jack set his mug down and warily looked at the man, sizing him up. He was vaguely familiar—tall, dark hair, blue eyes, a look to his face that screamed desperation for a change in scenery—and Jack was quite sure he'd seen him before. He also sensed that this man was a man of the sea that had been on land long enough to seem to be ill. If the captain chose one word to describe him, he would likely choose "exhausted."

The captain quickly wiped the grimace from the taste of ale off his face. "What sort of qualifications do ye 'ave?" At least this one seemed capable of physical labor. That was more than could be said with the last three he'd talked to.

"I spent ten years aboard the _Albatross_ under Captain Lemuel Checketts as 'is bosun," the man replied, faking humility while trying to show how outstanding his record truly was. It was a dilemma that any man seeking employment knew intimately: how to come across as a potentially good employee without seeming overbearingly proud of one's accomplishments.

"How long ago was that?" The man had experience with the rigging of a ship, which was very good. Larry didn't have that, though he was fairly old.

The man paused for a moment, obviously debating if he'd rather tell the truth or lie. "Nine years."

Jack frowned. "Why the long break?"

"I fell in love wiv Amelia," he reported.

"Ah." It was always a woman, wasn't it? The tone to Jack's voice seemed to indicate that he was now no longer interested in the man in front of him. A man who was married wouldn't make as good a pirate as a man who had no affection for any one woman.

His blue eyes filled with worry at the noncommittal response. "I need a better way t' support my son," he added.

Jack really didn't care. He nodded slightly, glancing down at his fingernails. A man who had a child to support with his income would probably work harder and more responsibly than a man who didn't, right? "What's your name?"

"William Turner," he replied, the relief evident in his voice.

"Well, Mister Turner, can ye read?"

Turner nodded. That was certainly a good sign. Many people couldn't read. Jack handed him a copy of the articles he'd made for the _Black Pearl_. "Read tha'. If you agree t' abide by it, make your mark here." He pulled out a piece of parchment with the names of his other crewmen.

Turner nodded again. "Where are we going, Captain…?"

"Sparrow. Jack Sparrow. We're goin' t' the Caribbean." He was sick of the dismal weather everywhere else and yearning for the sun and mostly good weather of his childhood. "Unless tha's a problem."

Turner shook his head. "Caribbean's good, Captain Sparrow." He briefly scanned the articles and then signed the paper.

"Welcome aboard the _Black Pearl_, Mister Turner." He smiled at the man. "I plan t' leave in the next two days, if tha's convenient for ye."

Turner shrugged slightly. "The sooner, the better. My wife's brother is pro'lly looking for me. I jus' up an' left a week ago. Gave some story about joining a merchant vessel. Once in a lifetime opportunity."

"I see." Jack still didn't really care, honestly. William Turner could be a murderer so long as he behaved himself aboard his ship. "How's your swordplay?"

"Fairly good." Once again, Jack could tell he was trying to be more modest about it than he actually was. A part of him was tempted to pull out his sabre and test Turner's skill, but he really wasn't in a position to be picky. For all he knew, he had the world's best swordsman standing in front of him. The man's eyebrows knit together in a furrow. "Why?"

"It'll come in handy." Jack smiled slightly. "Might be a good idea for ye t' actually read the articles, mate." He couldn't expressly say that he was running a pirate ship. There were far too many redcoats in the tavern for that. However, the very fact that he had articles was proof that he did so. Most ships had articles, sure enough, but only pirate ships required that all members of the crew sign them, rather than just officers. They were protection against tyrannical captains. The wondrous thing about pirate ships was that a captain was very much replaceable if he did something the crew didn't like. As he'd previously been the captain of a merchant vessel, there wasn't much that his crew could have done to voice its displeasure other than submitting something in writing or doing so vocally. He had every right as captain of a merchant vessel to punish any member of his crew for speaking out about him. Piracy was an entirely different world altogether, and he really wasn't sure what sorts of politics to expect.

Turner nodded a bit sheepishly. "Aye aye, sir," he said, looking at the paper far more intently this time. He seemed slightly surprised to realize that he'd just gone on account with a pirate, but wasn't all that upset. He just needed to get away from all the responsibility he'd had heaped on him since the birth of his son. Of course, he loved his son, but he couldn't handle being tied to land any longer.

Jack smiled slightly as he saw the look of understanding in the man's blue eyes. "I trust this isn' a problem."

"No, sir," Turner replied. He suddenly felt uneasy as a sense of foreboding filled his body. Something about this didn't seem quite right. He quickly brushed it aside, however. He needed to escape from Amelia, needed to heed the siren call of the ocean. "No' a problem at all."

"Good." Jack smiled, clearly pleased. "Two days from now, Mister Turner, an' we shall be leaving. Unless I send word contrary to what I jus' said." He moved his hand dismissively. He was sick of interviewing people today. A man could only handle so much judging of other men trying to appear greater than they truly were. He'd never thought that so many people would be anxious to leave here. Of course, as far as he'd been able to tell so far, things really weren't all that well off economically. The collapse of the Commonwealth a few decades previously was still keeping this community in a quagmire. They just couldn't shake it. All of the young people were moving to the towns, leaving discontented ones unable to leave available to join Jack's crew.

Turner moved aside, a thoughtful expression on his face as he decided to read the articles again. Jack's seemed unusually fair for the sort of occupation he was in. As captain, he was only claiming a share and a quarter, rather than a share and a half, which put him equal to his officers, whoever they ended up being. Of course, the salty sailor wasn't about to complain. This was exactly what he was looking for. If he were to be an officer, he could send a majority of his money to Amelia for the care of their son and still carouse about in the Caribbean. The law had always been laxer there than elsewhere, as all the major world powers were squabbling for their piece of the figurative pie. Spain, England, France, and the Netherlands were currently at peace, which was why so many privateers had turned pirate.

Somewhat satisfied by his newest recruit, Jack picked up the mug of ale again and took a long swill, nearly draining the mug of its contents. He'd have to steal some money in order to have another round, but he didn't mind. Picking another man's pocket had always come easy to the newly christened pirate captain.

To Jack's left sat three men in the midst of a game of cardscalled ombre. It was a game that was generally played by the aristocracy at balls when they had nothing better to do (which was fairly frequently). The man dealing the cards was remarkably short. His face was long and drawn out, and he looked as though he were having a hard time sitting properly at the table. He hardly seemed to be the sort of fellow one would expect to find in a tavern in Dartmouth, of all places, for he looked as though he'd made all of his money doing something that required no manual labor whatsoever. To his left sat a larger man, plump and rather pleased with his cards. He was tapping out an internal rhythm unconsciously as he waited for the third member of the party to do something. The third member of the unusually well-dressed ensemble appeared to be wearing vestments for the Church of England. Unless Jack's crash course in the vestments of said church was very wrong, he appeared to be a dean of some cathedral.

The one in vestments placed his three cards down, grinning triumphantly at the crestfallen look on the large man's face. "Sorry, Bach. You really need to learn how not to hum when you've got a good hand."

Bach frowned. "Ach," he said, with a deeply guttural accent. "A man in your position, Swift, shouldn't be taking advantage of that."

The small man chuckled, looking amused by the antics of those in his party. "Where's Gay? We can't properly start our meeting of the Scriblerus club without him."

"I do not see why you've invited me, Pope," Bach said, glancing at his two companions as he handed his cards to the short man. "I have nothing to do with writing."

"Music is one form of expression that has heretofore not seen many greats, Bach," Swift answered quickly. "We just wish to share some literary ideas that you might translate into song at some time."

Jack was very much intrigued by their conversation, somewhat in awe of the company he'd found rather randomly in Dartmouth. Why would Alexander Pope, Johann Sebastian Bach, and Jonathan Swift be meeting here? No doubt they were about to discuss something of extreme importance that would turn the literary world upside down. That, or Pope, Swift, and Gay wanted to become patrons to Bach. Or there was some sort of grand conspiracy.

He lifted his mug up to his lips to have another drink, intending to continue eavesdropping on the conversation next to him. He was abruptly pulled from his thoughts as he heard someone say, "I hear yer lookin' for a crew."

"You heard correctly." Jack slowly lowered his mug of ale, pleasantly surprised to see a respectably-aged man with a scraggly beard and very large hat with a dyed ostrich feather in it holding out a drink. His nails were long, indicating he didn't do too much work, but his hands were calloused. He seemed to fit the stereotypical pirate—he wore a belt, a yellow sash, and sea boots. He had a rather nasty scar underneath his right eye that seemed to have only recently started to heal. Were it not for the smile on the man's visage, Jack would assume he was quite easily angered. "An' who are you?"

"Hector Barbossa," the man replied. His voice was unusual—he spoke with more of a lilt and quite a bit slower than the average man. He sat down at the table, handing the mug to Jack. "And you?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow, in the flesh," Jack grinned and grabbed the mug. He lifted it to his mouth. The grin widened into a smile as he realized what the contents were. "Rum!"

"Aye, rum. Any self-respectin' man is naught if he have not a taste for rum." He lifted up his own mug of the Caribbean's lifeblood. Jack met it with his own. "What sort o' positions are ye searchin' for?" Barbossa queried, after taking a small sip of his mug.

Jack had finished about a third of his drink already. He put his mug down, swallowing the fiery liquid. "All, pretty much. I recently los' most of my crew in a tragic incident involving the Company." His hand subconsciously went to the brand on his wrist, covered by his sleeve. It stung as bad as it had the day he'd received it. "What sort of experience do ye 'ave in the sailing department?"

Barbossa took another swill of his rum, smiling as he set his mug down as well. "Well, Captain Sparrow, mos' recently I served aboard a ship called the _Scourge_ un'er Captain Joe Pellew."

"Never heard of him." Jack was hardly impressed. What sort of pirate could a man with the last name of Pellew be like? That was practically just pillow, depending as to where it was one came from and how one pronounced it. Besides, the _Scourge_ hardly sounded like a decent pirate ship name, either. Of course, he also didn't want Barbossa to know he was now one of the most qualified candidates he'd run across thus far.

Barbossa frowned slightly, annoyance briefly flashing across his face. "Before that," he continued, as though Jack hadn't said anything, "I spent eight years as first mate of the _Kracken_ un'er Captain Meyer."

"Haven' heard of him, either," Jack pointed out, though it was very clear he was impressed with the eight years of service. Barbossa clearly knew what it was he was doing. He tipped his mug back and finished off the rest of his rum.

Barbossa had a very hard time not rolling his eyes. This Jack Sparrow seemed like a very young man indeed. How was it that a young whelp of a man had a ship? He most certainly didn't deserve it, even if he had mutinied under someone and stolen it. "Previously, I was aboard the _Kracken_ under Captain Benjamin Teller."

"I _have _heard of him," Jack said, sitting eagerly forward in his dilapidated chair. Benjamin Teller was a pirate or his memory was very much faulty. He'd heard whispers of the name from old salts back at home. That meant that Barbossa was the perfect candidate to fill Tannar's place.

"Good," Barbossa said, with a slight grin. His teeth were quite decayed and rather revolting. Jack personally went in to visit a blacksmith whenever his became too bad, which was why he had gold facing on some of them. Of course, being a captain of a ship, he'd been able to afford such a thing. "Where is it yer plannin' on going, Jack?"

Jack frowned slightly, idly touching his now-empty mug of rum. "The Caribbean, Hector."

Barbossa matched the frown. He obviously didn't like it when people called him by his first name. Of course, that made a lot of sense. Hector wasn't exactly the most terrifying name in the history of piracy. "And the name of your vessel, Captain Sparrow?"

"The _Black Pearl_. She's the fastest ship in these or any other waters, mate." Jack had a look on his face that was on par with a man praising his favorite child. Obviously he was pleased with the results of his deal with Davy Jones. "Would ye like t' go on account wiv me, then?"

Barbossa seemed to be in deep thought for a few moments, though he really had made up his mind to join this man's crew before even speaking to him. Jack seemed to be the sort of individual that would easily be taken care of. He was in the mood to have a vessel of his own. The math was simple enough. "I'd have to see your articles, Captain."

Jack nodded slightly, glancing toward his newest recruit. "Turner!" The man was sitting at a table near Jack, apparently dozing. He'd decided to intently examine the inside of his eyelids rather than the articles he'd just signed. Jack really couldn't blame him. He'd had a very hard time staying awake while writing them. "Oi, Bill Turner!" he yelled again. This probably didn't look very professional to Barbossa. He looked to the man and smiled apologetically. "Jus' a moment. New recruit. You know how it goes." He smirked and then stood, making his way to where Turner lay sleeping. "If'n you want t' lift yourself up by your bootstraps, Bill Turner, I suggest you wake up," he said, using a common idiom of the day that meant improving one's situation by one's own efforts. He then poked the man on the shoulder.

Turner immediately woke up with a rather embarrassed look on his face as he realized that he'd fallen asleep. "Sorry, sir."

"Don't let it happen again, mate. I'm not going t' lift you up by your bootstraps meself. Not much profit in it for me." Jack grabbed the copy of the articles, now covered in a sheen of drool, and returned to the table where Barbossa was waiting. The salty man seemed almost amused by Jack's antics. Jack wiped the parchment on his own sleeve and then handed it to Barbossa.

Barbossa took the articles and then read them carefully, a pensive look on his face as he did so. "These seem in order, Captain Sparrow," he said magnanimously when he'd finished. "I'd consider it an honor t' go on account with ye."

"Good." Jack smiled broadly, handing him a quill and the parchment with the roster of the rest of the crew. "Make yer mark."

Barbossa scrawled his signature on the roster, making it as grand and impressive as his limited skills with calligraphy would allow. He hadn't had a formal education, so the fact that he could read and write was quite extraordinary. And a very valuable skill. "Welcome aboard, Mister Barbossa," Jack said, reaching across and shaking his hand.

"Ye can call me Barbossa," the older, far more experienced pirate said, sizing Jack up based on his handshake. The little whelp had a lot of confidence, to be sure, but he was still fairly certain that he could overcome any of that by undermining it with the crew. Jack Sparrow was the perfect mark for mutiny. From what he could see, he trusted other men far too much at face value.

"Right. Welcome aboard, Barbossa." Jack took the crew roster from Barbossa. He rolled it up, placing it with his effects to the side of his chair. "I suppose you'll want to be knowing which office I'd like you to fill aboard my ship."

"Yes, that would be nice." Barbossa sat back in his chair, idly bringing up his mug of rum to his lips.

"Based on the amount of experience you've had, I've determined you'd bes' be suited as my first mate and quartermaster. Meaning, of course, should anything happen t' me, you get command of the _Pearl_." Jack was quite certain nothing would happen to him, though. His soul was too valuable to Davy Jones. It was nice knowing he had at least thirteen years to carouse and womanize to his heart's content.

"Ye've made a wise choice there, Captain," Barbossa said, not bothering to feign humility. Jack liked that he wasn't doing such a thing—it showed that Barbossa wasn't a weakling. Jack's crew would need someone like him to whip them into shape, for Jack had no idea how to go about doing that. He'd never been on the receiving end of a punishment himself, so he really wasn't sure how they were performed.

"Aye, I know," Jack said dismissively, with a slight shrug. He stroked the handle of his mug and then slowly stood. "I would appreciate it, Barbossa, if you'd continue hiring the crew for me. I mean t' leave in two days and still 'ave a few things what need tending to. As first mate and quartermaster, it's your task t' hire the crew." He was quite glad to have someone to pawn this off to. Barbossa would probably be able to sift through those that weren't capable of being a pirate. He knew what he was looking for, after all, unlike Jack. "Jus' make sure that they're able-bodied. An' that they're aware of the danger. An' that they can be whipped into shape if need be."

Barbossa nodded at each injunction. "Very well, Captain. I'll get ye a full crew." He couldn't believe his luck. Jack Sparrow obviously trusted men far more than he should. Barbossa would choose a crew that would be more loyal to him than to the cocky upstart who'd probably inherited the ship. It probably wasn't even worth his effort, but a mangy, barnacle-encrusted ship was better than no ship. He wanted to sail the world and make a name for himself, rather than someone else. Years of deceit made it easy for him to mask his overall intent from the rather naïve young captain, however.

"Thank ye. I'll jus' hire Larry an' turn control of the new crew over t' ye." Jack smiled appreciatively, his hands bowing slightly. He looked to his left, severely disappointed when he realized that Pope, Bach, and Swift were no longer there. Perhaps he'd simply imagined them. With a slight sigh, he stood up and started toward the bar. Along the way, he picked the pocket of a drunkard. It was remarkably easy to do that, fortunately, or he'd be forced to stay only partially drunk for the rest of the night.

"_I'm rather curious," Jack said, looking over at Pearl. They'd been remarkably quiet during the entirety of this scene because there really hadn't been much to say. Jack certainly didn't want to point out that he'd been a tool of removing Will's father from him without any thought of the young child or the effects it would have on him. So long as Pearl didn't judge him for that, he wouldn't mention it, either. "Did you prefer myself or Barbossa as captain?"_

_Pearl blinked a few times, obviously trying to think of some way to answer that without lying and without ending up in trouble. She was fairly sure that she would end up with Jack after this was all said and done, so she most certainly didn't want to alienate the captain. "Well…you both had your own little techniques I liked."_

_Jack frowned. "Tha' isn't a straight answer, luv. Which one of us was the better captain?"_

"_That's hardly a fair question to ask, Jack."_

"_But I want to know. You'd know bes', having spent about equal amounts of time with us both."_

_She looked away from Jack, toward the figure of Barbossa sitting at the table. He could see the reverence in her eyes and it sickened him. "You're both good captains. Neither one of you is better than the other because you have different styles of going about things."_

_Jack frowned. That was enough of an answer. His own ship didn't think he was the best pirate in the world. That made him feel just peachy. "I see," he remarked softly, sounding disappointed._

_Pearl sighed, putting her hand on his arm. "Jack, you are a fine captain. But so is Barbossa. He knew how to take advantage of my power, of my speed, better than you did. He treated me like a pirate ship and you treated me like a goddess. Neither way is particularly better than the other."_

_He merely looked away from her, stung that she didn't consider him the best pirate. He'd spent so long getting her back, and she'd been enjoying herself with Barbossa? He felt as though his wife had been unfaithful to him behind his back for years. "Let's jus' get on with this, shall we?" he asked as she tried to kiss him, pulling back as she leaned forward._


	24. Chapter Twenty Three: The Sacking

Disclaimer: I do not have permission to be writing this, or using most of these characters.

_Author's Note(6/19/07)_: I have less than a month of classes left this semester! Exciting. And terrifying. I've got a lot to do between now and then, so I don't know how frequently I'll be able to update this. I'm sorry it's been taking me so long, lately. I really appreciate all of you reviewers who've stuck with me this far and still loyally leave your thoughts. I'd appreciate it if _more_ of you left a review…but that's okay. I know how hard it can be to write something after you've read something as spectacular as this story. –winks-

Due to the general consensus, I've decided to continue putting the commentary between Jack and Pearl in the chapter, rather than at the end. I have something quite diabolical planned for the next two chapters. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter Twenty-Three: The Sacking**

Twilight was descending upon the tranquil port of Nassau like a cat pouncing on a vole. It had approached slowly at first, as the world turned and the sun prepared to shine elsewhere. Now that celestial being was no longer visible, and the darkness was overbearing. The stars were starting to show their glimmering faces, pleased to finally shine. Up above, the moon was a waxing crescent, scarcely lending light to the situation. People were going about their customary business for this time of the night. Children were being prepared for bed by their stressed mothers. Men locked up their homes for the night. Strumpets started to actively solicit their wares. Shopkeepers swept up after their customers. Insomniacs started pacing. Drunkards had another drink in the numerous taverns. And no one paid much attention to the dark ship slowly approaching the port.

"Cap'n," a voice said quickly, rapping on the captain's quarters. "We're approaching Nassau now, sir. An' you said—" The rather bumbling speech of a man blessed by very few brains was abruptly cut off as Jack opened the captain's quarters. He quickly straightened, squirming like a five-year-old being inspected by his mother to see how well he'd cleaned his hands before dinner. He was of an average height with straw-colored hair and tanned skin that was so covered in dirt it was darker than his hair. Next to him stood a shorter, squatter man that went by the name of Pintel. Pintel and Ragetti, his nephew, were always together. Lamentably, the sum of their intelligence quota could be matched by a barnacle and easily outdone by a jellyfish.

"Thank you, Ragetti," Jack said with a very slight smile as he slipped a folded piece of parchment between his shirt and his sash. He hoped that the two companions were too thick to recognize and correctly identify the fear in his dark brown eyes. The passage to Nassau from England had seemed to fly by, figuratively. He'd yet to engage in anything that could actually be labeled as piracy, for they'd fortunately not run into any sort of merchant vessels worth shadowing and capturing. However, he knew that he had to do something. And it would be best for him to do something magnificent and unprecedented now, rather than later. The only pirates that ended up being discussed in taverns were the ones that made bold statements. His sacking of Nassau would certainly be a bold statement. "I wan' you to rouse the rest of the crew."

"Ay ay, Cap'n," Ragetti said quickly, a gleeful look in his eyes to be trusted with such an important task. He saluted quickly, nearly jabbing himself in the eye, and then scurried off with Pintel to go below deck. Jack watched them for a moment, a slight frown on his face. Barbossa had done the best he could with the sort of men available in Dartmouth, probably, but he still didn't like some of his crew. They seemed far too eager for the shedding of blood. The past few months, Jack had learned a lot about what actual pirates were like—coarse, rude, self-serving, and proud of some very terrible things. Some of them murdered without even blinking an eye. Such a trait would be handy in actual combat, but Jack still personally writhed inwardly whenever he thought of the people he'd killed, save for the slavers. He doubted most of his crew did such a cowardly thing.

"Are ye sure we can pull this off, Captain?" Barbossa queried lightly, approaching Jack with a somewhat displeased look to his light blue eyes. "Yer methods are a bit…questionable."

"We don't exactly have a choice," Jack countered, looking at his first mate with a slight smile as he pivoted about on one foot. "Me finances are tapped. An' we din' run into another ship loaded wiv shot." Jones had lamentably restored the _Wicked Wench_ without any of her armaments or powder. Sure, the cannons were all shiny and new, but there weren't any cannonballs to go in them. They couldn't exactly attack a ship without them, so sacking a port seemed the only reasonable option. Jack had no way to get to the funds he'd previously had. Beckett had frozen all of his assets, undeniably a bit cross with the pirate for escaping and for leaving such a painful reminder.

Barbossa sighed slightly, a look in his eyes that clearly suggested that Jack was absolutely insane. "D' ye really think this will work?"

"Of course. I _am_ Captain Jack Sparrow." The amount of pride and confidence to his voice was almost infectious. Jack smiled at his reticent first mate for a moment and then looked to the main deck. Most of the crew had assembled there, eager for their chances to improve their lot by proving their salt. Those who weren't would likely end up dead before tonight was over. "Oh, good!" he remarked, sounding pleased.

"Alright. I know that me methods tonight are going t' seem a trifle unorthodox to most of ye, but I do believe tha' this is the best way to go about getting into the treasury of Nassau, which is rumored to be quite full around this time of year." There was a hearty cheer of pleasure at this statement. "I'll be takin' a team of men—Bootstrap, Skip, an' Billy—while the res' of you go wiv Barbossa to the treasury." He motioned for the four mentioned to come to him. The rest looked at them somewhat jealously. Bootstrap (as William Turner was commonly called anymore) looked slightly uneasy as he stepped toward the captain. This plan, which had been discussed in some length amongst the officers, was almost too insane to be plausible. "Wait for us t' come, bu' be ready t' take a load of swag t' the harbor. An' avoid killing people if ye can. Don' want t' bring the lobsterbacks down upon us. It'll make things a bi' more difficult, savvy?" The crew nodded, though some of them looked disappointed.

"O'er here, ya bloomin' cockroaches!" Barbossa yelled to the remainder of the crew, giving a curt nod in Jack's general direction. Even if this plan was insane, it would be rather interesting to see it go wrong. The first mate was itching to sour the men against Jack, and if he died tonight, taking over the _Black Pearl_ would be quite easy and very legitimate. He wanted her. She was the finest craft he'd ever had the pleasure of stepping aboard. She was as hungry for action as the crew was, and was probably sulking because Jack wasn't going to use her for his plan.

Jack nodded back, stepping toward the group he'd assembled. Of his crew, he trusted these three men the most behind Barbossa. He'd known Skip and Billy far longer than Bootstrap, of course, but there was something about Bootstrap that seemed trustworthy. Jack didn't think Bootstrap was capable of doing anything malicious on purpose. Of course, he'd never been famous for his judge of a man's character, and he probably would never be renowned for it, either.

Skip was a fairly short man, thin and wiry from years of serving aboard a ship. His skin tone was about the color of Jack's, though his hair was bleached as much as beached whalebone after twenty years of lying in the sun. Billy was taller than Jack, a rather taciturn man who generally fulfilled the duties of the helmsman to perfection. Both Skip and Billy were levelheaded enough not to overreact in the somewhat delicate operation they were about to engage in. Jack was fairly certain Bootstrap was as well. Some of the other men in the crew, like the mostly stark-raving mad Benjy, would probably try to stab the wind in self-defense if it unexpectedly blew.

"I know tha' you're all very aware of how critical our mission is," the captain said simply. "An' I'm not going t' insult your intelligence by repeating it. I jus' want to wish you all good luck. An' remember—the less attention you can draw to us, the better." He smiled encouragingly. They all nodded and then they started toward the quiet port.

_Jack chuckled slightly as he looked at himself, shaking his head as he did so. "It's a wee bit ironic how often we talk about things that are bothering us, innit?" he questioned, glancing over at Pearl. She looked confused by the rhetorical question. "Well, I mean…human nature is such that we generally talk about things what are bothering us. Which means that we all basically have the same conversations wiv each other. Time and time again—with slightly different variations, depending on the parties involved." Pearl still looked confused. Then again, Jack's logic was sometimes difficult to follow and swallow. "I mus've told the three of them the plan at least five times each I was so nervous," he said finally._

"_And that's something you regret?" Pearl asked, still clearly not seeing what was so relevant about his comment so as to stop their progress in his life._

"_Why would I regret that?"_

_She shrugged lightly. "I don't know. You brought it up."_

"_Well…I'm merely making an observation of human nature." Jack sounded somewhat defensive. Her previous comment still bothered him. "Was I really not as good of a pirate as Hector?"_

_She rolled her eyes. "Jack, that doesn't matter."_

"_Yes it does." He motioned toward himself. "See? Hector would've never come up wiv a plan like _this_. Pure genius."_

"_It is a good plan," Pearl agreed. "But, as I wasn't involved, I'd like to see how this happened. Can't do that until you're quiet." She wasn't in the mood for an argument, and Jack wasn't in the mood to argue with someone who had nothing to say. There was nothing more frustrating than that. He sighed and let silence envelop them._

Finding the governor's mansion was incredibly easy. It was one of the most ostentatious buildings in all of Nassau, and it was situated in the place of most prominence. The wealthy really didn't realize how easy they made it for other people to rob them, really. It was as if they had signs pointing to their spacious abodes that could be seen directly at port. The wealthy always built their homes at the top of the hill or incline or street. That way they weren't plagued by the open streams of filth running through the city to the harbor, and they were able to rank themselves properly based on the level of height they had gained. The governor of Nassau was a shrewd and calculating former businessman who'd gained the King's favor by sending several presents of the best rum the Caribbean had to offer to royal functions. He'd been the obvious choice in replacement seven years ago, when the previous governor had been killed by an aide.

The building was grand and spacious. In a stroke of good fortune, it was perfectly symmetrical within and without. That would make it easy to search. Upon reaching the servants' entrance in the back of the grand building, Jack pulled out his pistol, motioning for Skip, Billy, and Bootstrap to do the same. They quickly did. "Now, these are more for intimidation than anything," he reminded them, though they really didn't need the reminder. Billy thought the plan was daft enough it bordered on brilliant, and Skip trusted Jack enough to do anything he asked. Bootstrap only looked slightly annoyed to hear Jack insult his intelligence by repeating something he'd said several times previously. The young captain was obviously a bit nervous, and for good reason. The entire crew was very much aware that Jack was a green pirate, and that he had a lot he needed to learn.

Without further ado, he stepped through the door into the mansion proper. It seemed like a cold and terribly proper place to live. Jack and the others silently tiptoed out of the servants' section of the house toward the front. The governor was likely located upstairs. They reached the front foyer half a minute after entering the house. Jack felt distinctly uncomfortable amongst all the lavish decorations and carefully cleaned knickknacks. The governor of Nassau certainly knew how to flaunt his massive wealth. "While I take him t' the treasury, I'd appreciate it if you'd relieve him of some of his personal wealth," Jack whispered, looking to Skip and Billy. They greedily nodded with a look of awe in their eyes as they looked around the foyer. The woodwork on the chairs was plated with gold. Each was a perfect masterpiece and probably worth about as much as the _Wicked Wench_. Of course, they couldn't equal her as the _Black Pearl_. She was priceless due to the magics Jones had used to bring her back. There could be no faster ship in the world. Jack was reasonably sure he could even take on the dreaded _Flying Dutchman_. Of course, he didn't want to mention his possible advantage to a man that could choke him with a claw. He still had twelve and a half years to think up a plan to prevent the inevitable.

The upstairs was as lavishly decorated as the downstairs, though Jack doubted the governor had many visitors other than state dignitaries and whatnot actually visit the bedchambers. As with most homes of aristocracy, sleeping chambers were on the second floor to make it easier for the oft-times rather lazy gentry to sleep in past dawn, when their servants awoke and started their daily tasks. On the second floor, they were more removed from the bustling streets around them and the accompanying smell. Many even kept chamber pots in little dressers upstairs so they wouldn't have to leave the comfort and security of their bedroom should nature call at night. Jack pitied the servants who had to empty those. Of course, he pitied the people walking on the street when those were dumped more than he pitied the servants. It was amazing how disgusting the aristocracy could be.

Skip and Billy went off to check the rooms on the right side of the house. Jack and Bootstrap went to the left. The hallways were carpeted with lush carpet that could probably hide bloodstains and creepy crawlies as well as grass. It had probably cost a fortune. Jack and Bootstrap's boots left dirt and rather foul particles behind that would never be able to be cleaned from the carpets without the assistance of something that could suck grime up. Jack quietly pushed open a few doors as he walked, surprised that the household was so quiet. Perhaps no one was here. That was the problem of doing something involving surprise tactics: there were too many variables that could get in the way. He'd had no chance to really learn anything about their target because he didn't want his ship noticed at all in the port until after the heist. All of the rooms were empty.

He and Bootstrap went down a side hallway, pausing when they reached the end of the rather small space. A door stood in their way. Behind the door, Jack could clearly hear a man and a woman laughing. He frowned slightly, glancing toward his companion. Bootstrap wore a similar look of disgust on his face. Whoever was in there was having a very good evening, that much was certain. He motioned toward the door, clearly indicating to Bootstrap that he should be the one to open it. The reticent pirate shook his head quickly, his eyes clearly saying something akin to, "It was your plan."

Jack rolled his eyes in response and inhaled quickly. He held his gun out in front of him and then pushed the door in. "Nobody moves!" he yelled. "We're taking you hostage."

The governor of Nassau stood on a chair in his nightclothes. What he had of his hair was a mess. He was the sort of man who refused to admit he was losing hair. Consequently, he let it grow out to unbelievable lengths in an attempt to comb it over the bald spots. Normally, he was wearing a wig on top of that, so the fine people of Nassau had no idea that he was nearly bald, but the wig was on top of one of the posts of a rather large and quite comfortable-looking bed against the far wall. Some of the long strands of his hair stood perpendicular to his head. He had very dark eyebrows and several moles on his face sprouting dark hairs. His eyes had an annoying habit of being perpetually waterlogged, and were spread so far apart on his face as to give him the appearance of a flounder if viewed from the side. He was a fairly portly man due to years of good profits and fine dining, and Jack was fairly certain he didn't have ankles. His left foot sported an extra toe from years of inbreeding within his family in the hopes of one day producing an heir worthy of some sort of throne.

Near him, on the floor, stood a rather curvy and quite scantily clad young maiden, looking upset by the intrusion of new men. She was very specific in requesting that the house be nearly empty whenever she came over to entertain the governor, which was why it had been so terribly easy for Jack and his men to sneak in. He couldn't have planned it better had he known she was his shiest mistress. Her emerald eyes flashed in indignation as she turned to look at the governor. "Poldie!" she protested. Her voice didn't seem to match her body. Jack had imagined her having more of a sultry voice, but the one he heard seemed as ingratiating as a cat in heat.

The governor sneezed in response. He had a rather annoying habit of sneezing whenever he was worried. Droplets of spittle spread across the room, showering over his female companion for the night much like the mist at the bottom of a waterfall drenches those unfortunate people close enough to be kissed by the suicidal water. She shuddered and looked back at Jack. The fear momentarily disappeared in her eyes as she realized that Jack was actually fairly attractive.

"I said _don't_ move," the pirate captain warned, not sure he liked the look in the mistress's eyes. Why was it that every woman found him attractive? It could come in handy from time to time, but he really didn't have the time to make a move with her, nor the desire. "What part of that don't you comprehend, then?" He cocked his pistol, aiming it at the governor's forehead. He doubted he'd actually be able to hit the man, as he wasn't exactly the best shot in the world, but he got the effect he wanted.

The governor's face twisted with fear, distorting his jowls into something somewhat comical. He sneezed again. "What do you want?" he breathlessly asked. Jack was surprised to hear the man's voice as composed as it was.

"Isn't it obvious?" Jack asked. The governor shook his head at that, the long wisps of his head standing up swaying in the air as he did so. Jack frowned slightly. "I'm here t' get the key to the treasury, governor."

The look of relief on the man's face was comical enough that Bootstrap strangled a chuckle as it tried to free itself. Obviously he assumed that his mistress had another lover who was spurned and out for revenge against the governor. "Oh," he said, sighing in relief. The air rushing out of his mucus-laden nose whistled. "Well, you can't have the key to the treasury."

That wasn't what Jack wanted to hear. "Why not?"

"Because. You've got no authority to take it."

"Governor, I'm Captain Jack Sparrow," Jack protested, taking a step towards the governor. Fortunately, such a movement scared a lot of the bravado from the rather pampered politician. "I have authority, savvy?" He motioned toward the floor with his flintlock pistol. "Get down. An' get the key."

The governor frowned as he carefully hopped off the chair. His nightclothes were a bit on the threadbare side of fabrics, and Jack really didn't like the view he got as the man walked past a lit candle lighting the room. He opened a drawer and pulled out a key on a string of velvet. His companion was busy staring at Jack, smiling approvingly as she did so. With a weary sigh, he walked to where Jack was standing with his palm held open for the key. "You're not going to get away with this," he warned.

Jack closed his hand over the key, nodding to Bootstrap. "Tie him up." Bootstrap nodded, grabbing one of the sheets off the large bed. He tied up the governor efficiently, finishing at about the time Skip and Billy showed up to report that the other half of the house was empty. The governor sneezed on Bootstrap a few times. It was a credit to the man that he didn't recoil in disgust. Then again, he was probably used to people sneezing on him, what with having a young son and all.

"What about the girl?" Billy asked, glancing at the governor's mistress with a somewhat pleased glint to his dark eyes. She smiled back, pleased to have been involved in such a terrifying ordeal with so many attractive men. Skip wasn't much to look at, but Billy never was without female company unless he wanted to be alone.

Jack shrugged. "Tie her up too," he said dismissively, opening his hand to look at the key to the building which housed the treasury.

"Gladly," Billy said with a mischievous smirk. He tied her hands together with a bit of rope he kept tied around his waist for times such as these. "D' you think we should take this one as a hostage?" he asked, too busy staring at the woman to look at Jack.

"No," Jack quipped. The look on the woman's face was akin to a look Jack saw before women generally slapped him. "She's more of a liability than anythin'," he further explained.

"Sorry, pet," Billy said, pushing her down onto the bed and then tying her ankles together. She looked like a pig about to be gutted.

"I wouldn' say nothin'!" she insisted, an uncomfortable grimace creasing her fairly pleasant visage and revealing a plethora of scars from smallpox hidden by makeup. Skip and Billy winced at her abnormally annoying voice.

"Well, a pirate ship is no place for a proper lady such as yerself," Jack added with a shrug of his shoulders. "I mean, I can't be held accountable for what me crew would do to you." Most likely, they would strangle her. She seemed to accept this as a valid response and simply put her best pout on, which certainly didn't help the marks of the pox to disappear. "Alright, then. We've got a treasury to sack." With that, he pivoted about on his left foot and swaggered out the door, apparently pleased to see that everything was going according to plan. He hadn't even had to fire his pistol.

"_Absolutely brilliant," Jack remarked to himself, looking quite proud of the man standing in front of him. Not many people would've had the courage to sack a town without actually using a weapon. "Do I get points for not hurting anyone?"_

_Pearl looked at him amusedly. "Well, I suppose technically you could…but it'd be negated by the fact that you _stole_ money from the innocent people of Nassau."_

"_Ah. Right. I'd forgotten that I'd…right." Jack looked uncomfortable for a moment. "It's not like any of this ruined someone's life, right?"_

"_You probably shouldn't ask questions like that," Pearl pointed out helpfully. "There are a lot of consequences to every action we take, whether they be good or bad." The scales briefly appeared and disappeared. Pearl didn't seem to want to show Jack which way it was leaning, and for good reason. The dark side of the scales was disproportionately heavy. It seemed impossible for it to balance out. And there were still nearly thirteen years of piratical acts to add to it._

"_Did I?" Jack asked. He had to know now that he'd asked._

"_Well, yes. The governor lost his post. His mistress was kicked out of her own home when her father learned what she'd been up to after she wasn't there to milk the cows in the morning. And Nassau suffered for several months because there wasn't enough in the treasury to repair things or to pay for celebrations. Taxes were upped in order that Nassau could send all to England that they were required to send. Men had to work longer hours. Wives were beat. Children neglected."_

"_Oh." Jack looked as though he'd just been shot. He hadn't realized one of his best triumphs could be so detrimental to other people. The look of pride on his face for the man before him was gone. Maybe he was a bad man after all. He fell into a sullen silence._

The treasury was located inside Nassau's courthouse, near the back of the building. Jack was only slightly surprised to see only a few of his men guarding the door. The door had been smashed in. Shaking his head slightly, he gingerly walked past it and then swaggered his way toward the back of the courthouse. He went past the rows of chairs where the audience watched, through a door that led to the judge's chambers and another hallway. Randomly, he selected the correct room where most of the port's accountants slaved away making sure that the sums in the treasury matched the sums they had on their pieces of paper. He walked inside, smiling triumphantly as he held up the key.

Barbossa was sitting at a desk, his legs crossed and his feet resting on the desktop as he idly balanced a quill on one of his fingers. He looked quite bored as he poured over the most recent record left by the occupant of the desk. Near him, Pintel was pulling out random records and crumpling them up, trying to fold them into something entertaining to help pass the time. A large pile of crumpled paper lay at his feet. Larry sat on top of one of the desks, idly picking at his rather dirty fingernails with a knife.

Some of the men were sitting on the empty crates they'd brought from the _Pearl_'s hold, staring at the wall blankly as though they'd just had an uncomfortable conversation about their views on religion. Ragetti was at another desk, rummaging through the contents in a drawer. He pulled out a monocle and stared at it curiously for a moment, slowly putting it up to his eye. "Wot's this?" he questioned.

Pintel glanced over from his latest attempt at a bird. The folded piece of paper looked more like an envelope than anything. "Tha's a pair of spectacles," he answered dismissively. "Put it down."

"Don' spectacles have two parts, though?" Ragetti queried, sounding confused. "There's only one bit on this one." He poked the piece of glass in the round frame carefully, as though he didn't expect to feel any resistance in there. He frowned as he traced the glass's contours with his finger. "Maybe the poor blighter 'as only one eye. An' half a nose." He couldn't imagine that the monocle would stay next to a man's eye very well without holding it. "Wot would you do if'n you only had one eye an' half a nose?" he posed hypothetically, glancing over at Pintel.

Pintel glared at his nephew and called him a rather nasty name as an answer. Ragetti quickly put the monocle down and shut the desk drawer rather loudly, causing all the men in the room to jump save Jack. He was watching the scene with amusement.

"Did you miss me?" Jack asked, startling them all once more. He could be remarkably stealthy when he wanted to be. He frowned slightly as he noticed a man wearing a wig and a rather large bump on his forehead lying right next to Barbossa on the ground. "Run into any troubles?" At least the man still seemed to be breathing. And wasn't bleeding, which logically indicated he hadn't been shot. Jack wanted this entire operation to take place without a single shot. The story, and consequently, his fame, would spread faster if there were something unusual about it.

"No," Barbossa said quickly, slowly standing. Jack hated how ambiguous the negative answer had been. Which question was he answering? The captain figured it was the second when he noticed the incredulity in Barbossa's eyes when he realized that Jack had the key. He'd figured that the place would be swarming with redcoats by now. "Did ye?"

"No." Jack smirked slightly. "Got the key t' the vault quite easily. An', due to the governor's bedtime romp, the house was pretty empty. No redcoats. So no worries." He glanced around the room's walls quickly. They were fairly bare, except for a tapestry attached to the wall behind the desk Barbossa was sitting at. The smirk broadened as he approached the lush forest green tapestry with a figure of a dragon stitched into it. It was probably hiding the vault door, for there were no other doors in the room save for the entrance. Whoever had decorated the courthouse couldn't have made it simpler for it to be robbed. He brushed aside the tapestry as though it were a cobweb and put the key into the lock. Surprisingly, it fit. Part of Jack had been afraid that the governor had given him a key to his personal outhouse or something. He twisted it and then pulled the heavy wooden door open.

Inside the coffers sat stacks of doubloons, shillings, pounds, Spanish reals, and various other denominations of shiny things that would fetch quite a profit. "Gentlemen, I sugges' we get this to the ship," he said, grandly stepping away from the vault door. The look of disbelief on his crew's face was quite remarkable. The look of admiration in Barbossa's eyes was irreplaceable. Jack felt a surge of elation wash over him. His first act as an official pirate was an overwhelming success. Fame and fortune would shortly be his for the taking.

Ragetti yelped with joy and greed before running into the vault, tossing himself into the piles of coins. Based on the rapid stream of cusswords they heard a moment later, Ragetti hadn't realized that money wasn't soft or something one literally wanted to swim in. Jack chuckled and shook his head. "Come on, then. Don' have all night." He motioned toward the empty crates. "Le's sack Nassau." The rest of his crew quickly stood, grabbing empty crates and rushing toward the vault door. This was going even better than Jack had initially envisioned it. He smirked to himself as he pulled out the note he'd prepared to leave in the empty vault, just to make sure that no one mistook this act as any other pirate's. The world had a lot of pirates who would no doubt wish to claim it as their own to add to their reputations.


	25. Chapter Twenty Four: The Mistake

Disclaimer: I do not have permission to be using these characters.

_Author's Note(12/9/2007): _Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm a very bad girl. Going several months without updating and all. I'm sorry. Things have been crazy. I graduate next semester from college. Scary, no? And I've been in a creative writing class that has really dampened my creativity and desire to write… But, fortunately for you, I was in the mood to finally finish this chapter today. So, here it is! Hope you enjoy it. And don't tar and feather me for taking so long to update. And offer good criticism. And leave a review. I hope for a lot of things, don't I?

**Chapter Twenty-Four: The Mistake**

Money lasted about as long as an icicle would on a day of record-breaking heat in the Caribbean without any shade to cover it when a person was a pirate. It slipped through the fingers like a piece of fat-tallow soap of even the most miserly pirates. It was as though those living in pirate havens could smell money on the air as a conquering ship came to port. Pleasurable company generally got the best pick of treasure from the crew of such a vessel; it was difficult to stay in the company of men for months at a time without sight or sound of a woman. The finer brothels generally had quite a profit once a ship as successful as the _Black Pearl_ came into town. After sacking Nassau, it took the crew approximately a month and a half to go belly-up financially. The small and quite full of potential town of Tortuga had more gold greedily passing hands now than it ever had in its existence thanks to the donations of the _Pearl_'s crew.

Only two men aboard the ebony behemoth had any money left: Jack and Barbossa. Barbossa knew better than to fritter away all of his profits before the next sacking of a town or a ship. And Jack had completely forgotten about a few doubloons he'd stuffed into a sack underneath his pillow in his cabin, as well as his secret stash in his desk drawer. As he had yet to sleep aboard the _Pearl_ (or any one brothel more than two nights in a row), he had no idea that it was just waiting in case of emergency.

Jack's orders to leave Tortuga had come as a relief to many of the crew. They'd had enough fine living for a while that they were anxious to go back out to sea and get paid for doing nothing rather than losing money in copious quantities due to numerous pickpockets and trained courtesans a man in his right mind couldn't resist. Their eager return would quickly be mitigated as they remembered how nasty hardtack and moldy water became after consumed several weeks in a row. They'd look back fondly to their time of impulse spending and would be more than happy to give more income to the pirate community the next time Jack decided to put into port.

Fortune seemed to be smiling upon the hauntingly beautiful figurehead of the _Black Pearl_. A mere day after leaving Tortuga they came across a prime target for plundering. She was a merchant vessel, based on her lack of guns, and was about the same size as the _Pearl_. Most of the crew was not on deck, for they came across the vessel at noon. The lookout had dozed off in the heat of the day and didn't see the black vessel shadowing his captain's ship.

Pleased, Jack turned to his first mate. "I bet they surrender," he remarked glibly, looking down towards his crew standing on the main deck. "Prepare t' fire a few warning shots, mates. No sense in sinking 'er if there's no point in doing so."

Barbossa shook his head, a look of displeasure in his cold blue eyes. "I think ye're wrong," he said simply, once the crew scurried off below decks to load the cannons. "Vessels don't often surrender without a fight." He looked towards the young captain and smirked slightly, though there was no expression of pleasure in his eyes. "Especially t' captains as unknown as ye are," he added somewhat maliciously.

Jack looked as though Barbossa had just slapped him. He put his hand to his cheek unconsciously as though his cheek were smarting. "I'm not unknown," he quipped defensively. Upon seeing the look of incredulity in his first mate's eyes, he added, "Tortuga was buzzing wiv stories about Nassau."

Barbossa hardly looked impressed. "Because ye were telling them to anyone what had an ear to listen. I saw you three sheets t' the wind talking the ear off a mongrel pup a week ago 'bout your brilliance."

"Tha's beside the point." Jack smiled slightly, tilting his head as if to say that his name had been spread enough to evoke the greatest fear anywhere in the world.

Barbossa merely shook his head. It would be best not to continue arguing with the captain. It was like getting into an argument with a three-year-old. No one ever won because Jack generally kept his opinions closer to his vest than his cotton shirt. Jack's smile broadened as he realized he'd 'won' the argument. The silence was temporary as Billy emerged from below deck and signaled the guns were loaded to Barbossa. "Orders, Captain?"

"Fire two warning shots to their stern. Only nick 'em." Barbossa repeated what Jack said (though with more panache and additional words) and grimly smiled as shots rang across the ocean. One of the cannonballs hit the starboard side of the craft, but the damage was minimal. The man up in the crow's nest was jostled from his dreams before tumbling down to the main deck with a thump that could be heard by the crew of the _Pearl_. Jack pulled out his spyglass, lazily glancing from the name of the craft—the _Sea Cat_—to where the Union Jack was flying. He was confident that he would shortly see a small white flag joining it.

Barbossa stepped away from the bridge onto the stairs leading to the main deck, clearly disgusted by Jack's actions. "Prepare to fire again," he ordered stiffly, cautiously watching the crew of the _Sea Cat_ as best he could without any sort of aid to his naked eye. He glanced toward Jack. "We should prepare t' broadside." His recommendation could easily be mistaken as an order.

Jack shook his head quickly. "No. Prepare to grapple." He turned the helm a few degrees to bring his vessel closer to the _Sea Cat_. Bootstrap, nearby, glanced up at the helm curiously. It was very unlikely that any merchant sailor would just give up to a ship that was relatively unknown. Barbossa's eyes widened with such rancor that Jack was fairly certain they'd explode. "Two doubloons tha' they know me an' this ship."

"Yer makin' a wager on this?" Barbossa asked, quirking one of his bushy brows.

"Aye," Jack said, lowering his telescope. He smirked as he looked at his somewhat bewildered first mate. "Afraid I'm right?"

Barbossa shook his head quickly. "Nah. It's a wager."

Satisfied, Jack lifted the telescope to his eye again. He could faintly make out a white flag joining the overly proud Union Jack. "See? They've run up the white flag of surrender." Jack's smirk widened. "I told ye they've heard of me."

Barbossa rolled his eyes and shook his head. The large ostrich feather in his had swayed, bandied about by the breeze. "They simply be smart, Jack. I highly doubt they've heard o' us."

Jack chuckled. "I'll prove it to ye tha' they 'ave, mate." He glanced down at his crew. Most of them were assembled on the main deck, eager for a bit of action to add to their very empty coffers. "Prepare t' board. They've surrendered, so I want ye t' put your weapons at an easily accessible but not openly visible position. I give quarter, so we give quarter. Less shot we use, more profit we get." Some of the men looked disappointed, but most of them looked relieved. It was always easier to spend stolen money when their palms weren't stained with blood. "Bring us the prize, men!" he yelled.

The crew threw their grappling hooks and pulled the _Black Pearl_ closer to the _Sea Cat_. The _Pearl_ eagerly lurched forward, anticipating the looting of her foe with pleasure. Many of the crew crossed overboard, glaring at the crew of the smaller ship. Jack crossed over last.

"Which of ye d' ye name captain?" the pirate queried. The crew of the _Sea Cat_ pointed toward a man wearing a rather ostentatiously large hat with a black ostrich feather that was probably Barbossa's hat's twin. Why did people like really big hats, anyway?

"I am," the man said with a slight frown. "Captain William Lubber."

"Ah. Captain Lubber. I presume you've heard of me, right?"

The silence aboard the _Sea Cat_ was embarrassing. Bootstrap kept looking between Lubber and his captain, clearly amused. Jack hated eavesdroppers. Bootstrap was getting far too amused by this…as was Barbossa. Something had to be done. He started moving his hands in eccentric motions, hoping to spur Lubber into remembrance. The other captain just stood there.

"Ye owe me two doubloons," Barbossa remarked, trying to not look too smug.

Jack glared at his first mate, looking back at Lubber. "Are ye sure you haven't heard of me?"

"As I have no idea who you are," Lubber remarked dryly, "I can't very well know who you are."

"Does the name Captain Jack Sparrow ring a bell? Of _any_ sort?" Jack didn't want to lose his bet.

"Aren't you the pirate who sacked Nassau?"

Jack nodded, triumphantly turning to Barbossa. He didn't notice the unusual note in Lubber's voice. "You owe _me_ two doubloons."

"Hardly," Barbossa countered. "Ye said he'd know who ye are. Ye said yer name. I owe ye nothing. Ye still owe me."

"Well, 'e caught the whole Nassau thing wivout me saying nothing. So, technically, I owe _you_ nothin'." Jack put his finger up as though he were scolding a younger sibling.

"Captain Sparrow," —Jack whirled about to look at Lubber, apparently surprised to see him standing there— "are we going to discuss my surrender?"

"Right." Jack smiled very slightly. "I will leave you your crew an' your ship—in tact—if ye give us everything in your holds that might strike our fancy."

Lubber frowned and shook his head. "That is not acceptable."

"Why not?" Jack seemed quite surprised, as did a lot of his crew.

"Because." Jack didn't like the note of impudence he heard in Lubber's voice. "Men, attack!" he yelled, stomping on the deck of his ship. He pulled out his cutlass, a look of utmost hatred in his eyes. William Lubber was a pirate hunter. The governor of Nassau had quite a nice bounty on Jack's head, determined to get revenge. He charged toward Jack.

Jack's finger impulsively pulled the trigger of his flintlock pistol. It was aimed at where Lubber _had_ been standing. The lead bullet raced forward, hitting Billy as Jack was nearly skewered by Lubber's blade. Men started pouring out from below the main deck, firing muskets at the _Pearl_'s crew as many of them unsuccessfully tried to process what was happening. Several men fell down on the deck dead before they realized that they'd been shot.

Jack ducked as Lubber lunged toward him again. His foe's blade lobbed off one of Jack's favorite clumps of hair. He'd yet to comb it since masquerading as a cleric of the Church of England, so it was quite messy. He watched in horror as the clump fell to the deck like a dead bird along with the little silver coin that had once been Sidonia's. He felt naked.

"To arms!" shouted Barbossa after what felt like an eternity, whipping out his sword with a maniacal look of bloodlust and hatred etched upon his face. This was clearly why he'd become a pirate. With an enthusiastic laugh, he started to slash at one of Lubber's men. The crew quickly rallied together, pulling out their weapons as quickly as they could.

Jack blindly reached for his sabre as a pirate hunter cut Larry's arm, very nearly cutting an artery. Larry was near the captain's quarters, and the sudden stream of blood clashed with his green ensemble. A shot toward the rather conspicuous pirate (due to his choice in fabrics) hit the wood behind him. Slivers of wood showered outward from the impact of the bullet like a raindrop hitting marble. One lodged itself in Larry's left eye. The man screamed out in pain, falling to one knee as his other arm was slashed at by his foe. Larry would probably end up dying.

He managed to free the sword from its sheath at approximately the same time Lubber abandoned Barbossa to go after his real target. His orders had been very explicit—Jack was to be brought to the governor at all costs alive so that he might be tortured slowly to death. That wasn't particularly how Jack wanted to die. Torture was so terribly clichéd. And easily forgettable. He still had a name to make for himself.

He lurched forward, trying to get to Billy as he simultaneously blocked blows aimed at a very tender spot right under his chin and other body parts. Billy was an ashen color. Jack had hit him near the liver. Or maybe it was the stomach. Jack wasn't sure. All he knew was that one of the men he knew he could trust was dying because of an accident. Killing a man in battle while trying not to die yourself was very different than killing a man that you'd known for several years. What if Billy died? It would be far worse than seeing Killian ripped to shreds by a wild dog because it would solely be his fault. Billy was a decent swordfighter—and strong, too. He wasn't like the whimpering Ragetti leading a pirate hunter on a wild chase about the _Sea Cat_. Jack really wasn't sure why Barbossa hired the lean man. He always seemed to be getting in trouble.

Sidestepping Ragetti on his frantic flight, Jack managed to make it to Billy without being hit by the various whizzing bullets scratching through the air. He knelt next to the man, trying to ascertain if he was even still alive by reaching out to touch his skin. It was cold. The corpse had no pulse. He'd killed Billy. He had Billy's blood on his hands. And to make matters worse, he probably technically owed Barbossa two doubloons.

Swearing, Jack closed the man's eyes for some sort of dignity before abruptly standing back up. There were at least fifteen men of his dead on the decks. "Fall back!" he yelled, slashing one of the hunters in the back with a minute movement of his wrist. Blood poured out of the unexpected wound as Jack moved on to another man. "Back to the [iPearl[/i!"

Barbossa heard the order and looked disappointed. It seemed that Jack Sparrow was a lily-livered captain who had no taste whatsoever for blood. However, he repeated the order to those around him. He was only first mate. Who was he to question the captain in front of the remaining crew?

"_So, what's the policy on accidental murders?" Jack asked a bit anxiously as he looked over at Pearl. "I mean, do they count as much as intentional murders, or…is it jus' an accident? Or do they count more?"_

_Pearl looked at her captain with a very grim smile on her face. "Murder is murder," she remarked softly._

"_But I didn't mean to do it," Jack protested, looking as though he'd just been slapped by the prettiest strumpet in Tortuga._

"_I know you didn't." Pearl smiled broader. "It wasn't murder. It was an accident."_

"_Right." He looked only a little relieved._

"_Jack, people are held accountable for things they intend to do…we're judged based on what the intent was. You didn't mean to kill Billy. It just happened. Sometimes bad things just happen."_

"_Tha's hardly fair," Jack said with a sigh. "'E was a good man." The scales didn't tip toward the bad side, however, so he decided to not press the issue further. He would never understand why bad things happened to good people. Billy had been a good man._

Jack was grateful for the unnatural speed his beloved ship had. Otherwise, he would've ended up heading back to Nassau and a very grumpy governor. The _Sea Cat_ gave up on chasing him after they managed to get a lead of about five leagues. At least, Jack assumed they stopped chasing him. To be safe, they limped into a port that was rather obscure for supplies. It had a population of approximately four hundred. They wouldn't find everything they needed, of course, but they would at least be able to get their wounded tended to.

Larry, remarkably, was still alive. The surgeon, Klubba, had started with him. He was now armless and missing half of an eye, but he could still breathe. That was a lot more than could be said about the rest of the crew. Jack didn't want to go out and face them. The looks in their eyes… Billy had been a fine crewman, and Jack had killed him. No matter how much rum he had to drink, he couldn't wipe the memory of the bullet hitting Billy out of his mind. It just wasn't working. Not even whiskey helped. He'd drained all his stores of alcohol over the past half a day, and probably had more alcohol in his blood than plasma. But he couldn't forget what he'd done. There was no sweet release from his sorrows. He was a murderer. It was his fault that half of his crew was dead. His fault that they'd attacked a pirate hunter. What had he been thinking?

He was sitting at his desk. Bottles in various states of emptiness surrounded him on the desk and the floor. A knock on the door made him jump, causing the bottles to clink against one another. "Wha' isit?" he slurred, looking to the door as though it had just said something very rude about his mother.

The door opened, revealing Barbossa. He had a look of disgust in his light blue eyes when he saw how soused his captain actually was. "We're at port, Captain," he announced, trying to veil the disdain in his voice. How was it that such a drunken fool managed to get a ship as fine as the _Black Pearl_?

"Oh." Jack blinked a few times, motioning for Barbossa to leave weakly with one of his hands.

"Ye owe me two doubloons, Captain," the first mate pointed out helpfully, stepping into the cabin rather than leaving.

"Tha' so?" Jack asked with a fake laugh, brushing the bottles away from his desk. They clattered to the floor. One broke. He laughed all the harder as he looked at the rum soaking into the deck of his ship. "Drink up, luv," he said, with a half-salute.

Barbossa didn't seem deterred by Jack's actions. "Aye, ye do," he pointed out, his voice hard. He wanted his two doubloons so that he could buy himself something decent to eat in port. Fresh fruit, some fresh meat…something other than disgusting salted pork and hardtack.

"I gots it," Jack said defensively, pulling open a drawer on his desk. It bumped into his side and he laughed all the harder, clumsily reaching in to grab a small bag. He grabbed a piece of paper, instead. "'Ere you go," Jack said, jamming it into Barbossa's hand. "Two doubloons."

"This is a piece o' parchment." Barbossa didn't sound amused.

"Worth more'n tha', you know," Jack pointed out as a line of drool fell from his mouth. "Worth a fortune. If you can figure out wha' it all means, tha' is."

Barbossa glanced down at the parchment, reading the cryptic coordinates with a skeptical look on his face. "This some sor' of game ye came up with?"

"Hardly." Jack sounded offended. He grabbed the parchment. "Simple, really. The degree sacred t' Eris is clearly twenty-three. She's the goddess o' chaos. Forget why it's twen'y three…foun'it in a book once." He wrote down twenty-three on a spare piece of parchment. "Nex' piece isn' so easy. Circles in Metatron's cube. Din' find tha' one out until I nearly burned t' death in the desert. From a nomad. Apparen'ly there's thirteen circles in one, eh?" He chuckled, writing the number next to the twenty-three. "Tha's abou' all I have, though," he said, glancing over at Barbossa and frowning. "Got this off'n Cap'n Teague. I imagine it's worth a pre'y penny." He chuckled and rubbed the drool away from the corner of his mouth.

"Jack, ye've had too much to drink," Barbossa pointed out. "Give me the two doubloons, take a nap, an' sleep off this nonsense."

"I killed 'im."

"Who?" Barbossa reached into the desk and pulled out the small bag of coins Jack had originally been trying to grab. There was a lot more than two doubloons in it. He smiled and tucked it into his sleeve as Jack tried to find a bottle that wasn't empty.

"Billy. I killed 'im. Jus' like I killed the res' of me crew."

Barbossa put his hand on Jack's shoulder. "There comes a time in every man's life where 'e must realize he isn' to blame for everything," he said, halfway helpfully. "Billy was an egotistical prat. Wo'ld's better off wivout him."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "'E was a good man. Much more better'n anyone else on this ship."

"Jack, tha's not so. Billy 'ad too much of a moral center. Was a bad pirate."

"So a pirate can't have morals, tha' it?" Jack sounded angry now. He pushed Barbossa's hand off his shoulder. "Why is tha'?"

"Yer too drunk for this kind o' conversation." Barbossa glared at Jack. "I'm goin' t' go find a few people on this rock t' join."

"Why is tha'?" Jack repeated again, as Barbossa left the cabin. How could people kill so easily? Jack didn't want to sleep. He didn't want to do anything. He just wanted to forget about what had happened. He'd murdered Billy. At least when he killed the enemy, they were trying to kill him back…but what sort of cosmic justice was this? Billy had been nothing but loyal. Same with Tannar. Keaton. Killian. Killian certainly hadn't deserved to be eaten by those dogs.

He glanced at the paper again. He read it aloud. "The degree sacred to Eris, circles in Metatron's Cube, the number of steps between life and death North of the _Flying Dutchman_'s berth. The degree of souls going down to Egypt into bondage, the number of teeth a dog has, the number of men on a dead man's chest, and the number of ounces to a pound when West of the Orient." Maybe solving the rest of the riddle would keep him from thinking about what he'd done. If he didn't think about it, maybe it would go away. Maybe this was all just a dream. How many teeth did a dog have? Who would write out such a cryptic code? Of course, it was obvious there were fifteen men on a dead man's chest. And, it was also obvious there were thirteen steps on a gallows—the walk from life to death.

How many souls went down to Egypt in bondage? Jack considered finding a Bible somewhere to figure that out, but he hadn't opened one since his early childhood. It would take him far too long to find out. If the Bible even mentioned how many souls went down to Egypt, that was. Hadn't they always been there? He sighed slightly, his fingers running along the piece of paper. What he needed to do was find a religious man to ask that question. And he needed to find a dog. Preferably a dead dog. To count the teeth.

He stood up and fell down atop the bottles, laughing hysterically though a few had jabbed him rather painfully upon breaking. "They shoul'makeglassstronger," he murmured, carefully positioning his arm on the deck of his cabin so as to not end up with a thousand cuts. The rawhide on his right hand made it rather easy. Killian had been right about that, after all.

Whistling a sea shanty, he finally successfully stood and wobbled toward the door, looking like a child who'd just realized his legs could be used to walk instead of crawl. He nearly toppled over several times, but was in such a good mood it didn't matter. He had a task that didn't involve thinking about Billy. He'd wanted one of those for some time now. The man was dead. There was naught that could be done right now. He'd just be haunted by the ghost of Billy for the rest of his life, was all.

The best place to find a religious man, Jack decided, was in a church. It just so happened to be Sunday, too. That meant there were plenty of religious people packed into the small church on the island, busily trying to pray away their sins in hopes of some grand afterlife. Jack really didn't think there was anything after. Life was miserable enough as it was—why should one hope for a glorious afterlife? He waited until the preacher finished his lengthy fire-and-brimstone sermon by the door for nearly an hour, afraid to attract too much attention to himself by going in and sitting down. The stench of alcohol on his breath made the parishioners in the back of the church gag.

It was amusing to see them all leave in a hurry, avoiding Jack as though he had the plague. Christians didn't necessarily seem to be all that Christian these days. Shouldn't they be helping the poor sinner to repent? He nodded and smirked at a few of the prettier pigeons passing by. Why were there so many pretty religious girls? It would make life a lot easier if they weren't so religious…

He was watching a number with a waist he was fairly sure he could fit between his hands when the preacher put his hand on Jack's shoulder. The pirate nearly fell down due to the extra and very unexpected weight. He glanced at the man. He had a large nose and eyes that resembled a pig's. Yet…there was something in his eyes that was very unlike a pig. He had compassion.

"How might I help you?" the minister asked. Jack couldn't detect any sort of piety or fake concern in his voice. It scared him. Religious men were a lot easier to deal with if they didn't really believe in what it was they said they believed in.

"I…uh…have a few questions, Father."

"Vicar, actually. This isn't a Catholic church." The man smiled, and Jack almost forgot that his face was oily enough to light a lamp for several hours.

"Right. Vicar." Jack smiled slightly. He was trying not to breathe too much. He knew he smelled terrible. His breath could knock a man out when he was sober…perhaps it could put a man in a coma when he was three sheets to the wind. "I've been wondering this for some time, ac'ually." He was trying not to slur. God would be mad at him for slurring like a drunkard in church, wouldn't He?

"Ask away. I'll answer it to the best of my ability." The vicar finally moved his hand off Jack's shoulder. Apparently he couldn't stand the smell.

There was no sense in introducing the subject. Jack didn't want many people to know about the map that Teague had stolen from Beckett. Especially not right now. He had to do something to win his crew back. They would undoubtedly be upset by his last stupid move. "How many souls went down to Egypt in bondage?"

The vicar blinked. He'd probably been expecting some other sort of question involving theology—and the need for repentance. "Well…" He thought for a moment. "I suppose there were about seventy souls that went down to Egypt to live with Joseph during the great famine of Canaan. Why?"

Jack smiled and then shrugged. "Something I'd been wonderin' since I was a small lad, sir."

The vicar raised an eyebrow, but didn't question him further about such a random question. "Have you any other questions I might answer?"

"Do you 'appen to know 'ow many teeth a dog 'as?"

The look of shock on the vicar's face made Jack burst out laughing. He put a hand to his mouth and quickly stifled it, however. No sense in angering someone what might kill him at any moment. "I can't say that I've ever had anyone ask me that one before," the vicar joked, trying to wipe away the odd look from his face.

"Do you know?"

"Actually…" The vicar smiled slightly. "I used to have a dog when I was a boy. Before I ever thought of becoming a clergyman. I wanted to raise hunting dogs. But…well, things never exactly work out the way you wish they would sometimes."

"So do you know?" Jack pressed. He didn't want to hear the vicar's life story.

"Forty-two."

Jack's luck seemed to have changed drastically. "You've been immensely helpful, Father---er—vicar." Jack reached into his effects and pulled out the last little bit of his own spending money. He wouldn't need it after he went after the treasure. Assuming there actually was treasure, of course.

"Thank you," the vicar said, shaking his head slightly. "I believe you need the money more than I do."

"I insist."

The vicar shook his head more firmly. "Just promise me you'll consider your immortal soul, and we'll call it even."

"Right." Jack grinned, putting the money away again. "I can do tha'. Thank ye, sir." He bowed slightly and nearly toppled over. His head was dizzy with anticipation and alcohol. He felt like he was floating. He could go get the treasure and send some of it to Billy's remaining family members. Then he wouldn't feel so bad. Right? "Wha' I really need t' do is dull tha' conscience," he remarked to himself as he tripped down the dirt road toward the nearest tavern.


	26. Chapter Twenty Five: The Tale

Disclaimer: I don't have permission to be using these characters.

_Author's Note_ _(03/30/08)_: I graduate in ten days. Well, as of the time I'm writing this, almost nine. I needed to do something that wasn't homework. Consequently, you're reading this. I apologize for being so flaky. I hope to update more frequently once I have my accursed degree… I just need to survive my classes first. This chapter is…unusual. I hope you enjoy—it's a breath of not-serious air before the upcoming chapter. As always, I love reviews.

**Chapter Twenty-Five: The Tale**

Jack eventually stumbled into a tavern called the _White Dove_. Of the three taverns disproportionally available in the small town, it was the cheapest and sleaziest. Women were busy carousing for drunkards to pay them for temporary use of a bed. Drunkards were collapsed on the ground. One man sitting near the door was laughing loudly at someone who'd just passed gas. This was much more Jack Sparrow's crowd than the stuffy parishioners. Not only did they smell more like they were true to their own selves, but they didn't look at Jack with obvious disdain. Jack couldn't understand why it was religious people were so judgmental when the Bible mentioned something about not doing that. Then again, he didn't understand why anyone believed in some sort of creature controlling his or her destiny.

He tripped over a drunkard on the floor with a somewhat familiar face missing an eye. However, glancing up, Jack noticed Barbossa sitting at one of the tables. He quickly forgot the man on the floor and stepped over a few more to get to Barbossa's table. Jack had a stupid grin on his face which sharply contrasted with the scowl on Barbossa's. "Yer drunk," the first mate concluded as Jack stepped near him.

"That I am," Jack admitted, taking a seat across from Barbossa. He laughed, sounding much like an elk during mating season. Barbossa looked away as nearly everyone in the crowded joint looked toward Jack. He was reveling in the attention. "Drunk wiv information," he added theatrically, waving his arm in a grand gesture. He looked at Barbossa as though he expected applause.

Barbossa sniffed toward Jack. "I'd say rum." He glanced away from Jack in disgust. "Cheap rum."

Jack laughed wildly, motioning for the barmaid to come toward him. He would have to steal from one of the drunkards to pay for his drink, but he doubted any of them would mind. "While tha' may be true, I've got more information. Abou' the treasure."

Greed glinted in Barbossa's eyes. "What treasure?"

Annoyance flashed in Jack's dark eyes. Why didn't his first mate know exactly what he was thinking? A good first mate would know what he was thinking, wouldn't he? Perhaps he needed a new one. "The treasure what I tole you abou' before. Remember? Wiv the coordinates what didn't make any sense?"

Barbossa shrugged his shoulders, tipping his mug of whiskey back. Obviously he was putting his two doubloons to good use.

Jack rolled his eyes. "From Cap'n Teague. On the island what cannot be found except by those who already know where it is." He sloppily smiled as a redhead approached his table. "Rum please," he said. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen—which was probably due to the fact that he was the drunkest he'd ever been. She didn't have the looks to be a strumpet. She found Jack's attention heartening, though, and rushed off to get his drink with a slight spring to her step.

Barbossa sighed, resigning himself to the fact Jack wasn't going anywhere. "Didn't you promise me said coordinates?"

"You said you din' want them. An' I gave you the doubloons anyway." Jack leaned back in his chair, nearly tipping over. This was the answer to all of his problems. "I intend to leave for the treasure t'morrow. Think you can have a crew ready by then?"

Barbossa's lips turned up in a grim smile. "I've already replaced the crew. We could leave by tomorrow—provided you restock."

Jack nodded. "I'll do tha' on me way back t' the ship…or tomorrow mornin'. Sometime. Can't make money or find money wivout spending money, I always say."

"I've never heard you say that."

"Well, I be sayin' it now." He tilted his head curiously as he looked at Barbossa. The man had a monkey on his shoulder. It was a cute monkey, to be certain, but it was busy pulling little bugs out of Barbossa's hair. "When'd you get a monkey?"

"Bought it earlier t'day." Jack was astonished to see Barbossa actually smile as he looked at the furry little creature. "Still haven't decided what to name you, have we?" The change in Barbossa's voice was enough to nearly give Jack a heart attack. The ruthless man seemed to be speaking to a young child.

"I see." Jack coughed uncomfortably. "Monkey should be good on board a ship." He truthfully couldn't see any use for a primate—but it was probably more intelligent than Ragetti and wouldn't be asking for pay, so there was no sense in complaining. He was grateful to spot the redhead returning with a bottle of rum. The onion-bottle promptly captured his undivided attention and he forgot that Barbossa even had a monkey. "Thank you kindly, luv."

The barmaid beamed, revealing remarkably straight teeth. "Is there anything else you'll be needin'?" She placed her hand strategically on his shoulder after setting the bottle in front of her. "Anythin' at all?"

Barbossa grimaced as his monkey screeched at the newcomer. "We'd like it if you left, actually."

The redhead frowned and stormed back to her occupation, clearly frustrated. Jack remained completely oblivious, forgetting about the woman even before she turned to leave. "How can an island not be able to be found unless someone already knows where it is?" he pondered, taking the stopper from the neck of his bottle of rum with a barely-audible pop. "I mean, who in the wo'ld would've been the one t' find it if it can't be found 'less you know where it is? An' why is that a fact? Is the island fixed on the back of a giant sea turtle what goes under the sea when someone who doesn' know where it is approaches? If so, how does the turtle know? Are turtles all tha' good at figurin' out who a person is? Maybe the people wha' know where the island is have a differen' smell. Do you think turtles 'ave a good sense of smell?"

"Jack, you have too many thoughts," Barbossa said with a grunt, putting his finished bottle of whiskey down on the table. "I doubt anyone 'ere knows about islands what can't be found unless a person knows where it is. So wha's the use jawing about it?"

Jack looked affronted. He stood up with enough speed to knock his chair backward. The noise of the _White Dove_ died down, assuming a fight had just broken out. Many looked disappointed upon realizing that there wasn't one. "Do any of you lot know a lick abou' an island what cannot be found unless you already know where it is? I've got it on high authority tha' there's such an island near 'ere." His voice was loud enough to carry around the mass of people.

The silence lasted three or four seconds before everyone in the place ignored him. "Honestly, you need t' drink some tea or summat t' clear that head o' yers," Barbossa complained, pulling Jack's arm until he sat down on his chair. "As I said, no use jawin' about it. The people 'ere know a lot about cheap whiskey, an' tha's about it." An old man with a leathery face from years of seeing sun stopped at their table, placing his hands next to both Barbossa and Jack's bottles of alcohol. "Wha' do you want?" Barbossa's voice went from annoyed to angry.

"I've heard of the island wha' cannot be found 'cept by those who know where it is."

"See? There is a sense in talkin' about it. I often make sense even when it doesn' sound like I do. Rum doesn' impair me thinkin'." Jack turned to the old man, whose face was bulbous and pitted like a potato. "Wha've you heard, then?"

The man smiled, revealing a mouth devoid of all teeth but three wild ones that were half rotted away. The inside of his mouth smelled like someone's foot after soaking in urine for fifteen days. His clothes were virtually nonexistent. "They say there's enough treasure on tha' island t' make a ship completely o' gold."

"Tha's a lot of treasure," Jack remarked, glancing at Barbossa to gauge his reaction to the old salt. Thankfully, he seemed more intrigued than upset, which meant that Jack's judgment on listening to him wasn't entirely off. Perhaps he did have higher reasoning skills even while drunk. "How come you 'aven't gone after it?"

"I don't know where the island is," the man said with a shrug of his left shoulder, which succeeded in making his shoulders level for a brief instant. "I've only 'eard tell from it. Otherwise I'd be goin' after that gold, disregardin' the curse entirely."

"There's a curse?" Jack asked as his eyebrow raised. Teague had mentioned nothing of a curse. Why would Beckett go after cursed treasure? Not that he believed in such things, of course, but he was fairly certain at least some of his crew would.

"Aye, lad, a curse," the sallow man replied, looking back towards Jack. The captain frowned. Why was it that everyone still called him a 'lad'? Didn't he look old enough to be called something else? He started drumming the table in order to focus on the potato-man's message. "They say tha' the Heathen Gods placed a terrible curse on the treasure." He smiled mysteriously and winked, his permanently tan face full of both excitement and dread as he paused dramatically.

"Wha' sort of curse? An' wha' heathen gods?" Jack asked. He didn't believe any of this, as evidenced by the other eyebrow going up in disbelief. As he waited for the man to respond, he grabbed his rum and took a swill of the amber liquid.

"They say tha' Cortez 'imself was the first man t' lay eyes on the treasure. The heathens were tryin' t' make him stop killin' their kind…thought tha' the gold would satiate 'is greed. Of course, Cortez wasn' exactly the sort o' man that could be swayed by mere money, when 'e could kill the godless heathens an' take all their money for Spain, so he accepted the treasure, see, in a big ceremony. After the ceremony was complete, 'e shook hands slowly wiv the priest in charge and waved his men forward, who killed all the heathens present as he stabbed the priest in the chest himself. Apparently the Heathen Gods decided t' curse the treasure…t' try an' make the debt Cortez racked up for those innocent heathens be paid…whoever finds the gold an' takes a piece is supposed t' turn in'o some sort of heathen himself."

What was so bad about turning into a heathen? Jack was fairly certain heathens were no better or worse than some of the "Christians" he'd met… Really, it didn't sound like a very bad curse at all. It was likely just a tale told to people by those who had nothing better to do. Like the potato man. He shook his head slightly. "How'd it end up on an island in the Caribbean? I thought Cortez's on the main land."

"I don' know everythin'," the man replied with an offended scoff. "Perhaps the Heathen Gods jus' decided t' put it there. Or maybe Cortez 'imself. He could still be alive, for all ye know."

Barbossa snorted at that. "You've either not 'ad enough or too much t' drink, mate, t' think we'd believe this hogwash."

The man looked outraged. "You was the one asking about an island what cannot be found except by those who already know where it is. Ain't that the real hogwash in this place?" That said, he knocked over Jack's bottle of rum and then stormed to a different part of the seedy tavern.

Jack watched him leave with a pensive look on his face. "Do you believe in curses, Hector?" Once, as a child, he'd convinced his little sister Martha into believing she was cursed after a miserable day wherein she got five slivers in a row. She'd been so worried about it she'd tried to learn a ritual to get rid of curses. Jack had been whipped severely by his father when she'd been discovered with a book of the occult.

Barbossa merely rolled his eyes, apparently not thinking enough of the question to dignify it with a response.

"Ah." He was silent for a moment. "Have you ever won'ered why it is people wiv information in taverns seem t' have no sense of hygiene?" Barbossa ignored the question. Jack sighed as he noticed the rum spilled from his bottle onto his boot. "Do you reckon I'll still 'ave t' pay for this?" he asked as he signaled the redhead back.

Barbossa idly picked underneath his middle fingernail on his left hand as the monkey moved to his other shoulder. "I'm goin' t' go an' find you a crew so we can go on a search for this imaginary island an' curse."

"It isn' imaginary," Jack protested. "Jus'…relatively unheard of. Which is to our advantage, isn' it?" He grinned at Barbossa, who shook his head and then stood. "Right. Well. We should leave t'morrow when the tide's right. Make sure that happens, savvy?"

Barbossa grunted his assurance before leaving Jack alone at the table. He wasn't alone for long. The redhead, seeing Barbossa leave, had come back to try and make her evening something less dull than tending to drunkards. She smiled at Jack as she handed him a new bottle of rum. "A man like you shouldn' be alone on a night like this."

"Is tha' a fact?" he asked, taking the stopper out of the new bottle of rum with a jerk from his wrist. When she nodded, he smiled back. "Fortunately for you, luv, I agree. Have you ever helped a captain restock a ship 'fore, then?" She shook her head. "Good. I intend t' do so. How do you feel about bananas?"

"Bananas?" she repeated. "I like bananas. Long bananas." She giggled at Jack as he stood and put his arm around her.

"Then we shall go an' find all sorts of bananas. I've heard tell they 'elp with certain ailments at sea. No finer place t' find bananas than the Caribbean. Don' recall ever seeing them in England. Did I tell you, love, tha' I'm a captain?"

She squealed, sounding much like a piglet. "You are? I've always wanted to meet a handsome captain such as yourself."

"Well, you 'ave. Captain Jack Sparrow, a' your service. Any service." He winked. He was going to get a free bottle of rum out of this, wasn't he? She wasn't asking him for any payment…though, perhaps that would come later in the evening.

"_You chose her?" Pearl said, her voice aghast. She was standing right next to the redhead, who happened to have an overbite that would've made it possible for her to stick her hand inside her mouth without opening it. Her left eye stared off at the wall and her right was a little crooked in proportion. "Of all the women you could've had, you chose her?"_

_Jack could tell that he was probably going to get slapped. Why did she care what woman he chose? "I thought you'd be happy I chose a woman what looked so…" He pulled a face as he looked at the unfortunate barmaid. "It was an act of charity."_

"_Jack Sparrow, you liar! You thought she was actually good-looking."_

"_It's amazing what rum'll do to a man's judgment, especially when the lightin' isn't all that grand." He winced as she pulled her hand back and then slapped him soundly across the cheek. "I'm sorry. I thought we weren' going t' make this into a tally of how many women I took advantage of."_

"_Darn right we're not. Numbers don't go up that high." Her face was red and her fists clenched._

_That was the closest he'd heard her come to swearing. He'd clearly done something wrong. "Then why get so upset?"_

_She fumed silently for a few moments as Jack stared at her as he would a child complaining of nausea. What if she exploded again? Her slaps didn't really hurt, but the idea of upsetting her upset him. She was, after all, his ship, and he'd spent a great deal of his life trying to find her and make her happy. Was it possible he actually loved this woman? She wasn't real, though. He didn't love any woman. He was Captain Jack Sparrow! Part of him wanted to bolt. If he really did have feelings for her, this could get quite embarrassing. His life certainly wasn't the sort of life he was proud of. Why wasn't he proud of it? He'd done what he needed to; there was no sense in apologizing._

"_Jack, I just…I'm sorry," she finally said. "I have no right to judge you on your poor judgment calls. I just…I still don't understand how you used so many women for your own pleasure. Did the thought never occur to you that they had feelings?"_

_He looked away from Pearl. His heart was beating uncomfortably. He wanted out of this conversation. What if she could hear his thoughts? Perhaps he just needed to pay lip service to her and then they could get away from this uncomfortable topic again. He wanted to unrealize his realization. He didn't love any woman. He didn't love anything._

_Pearl sighed and folded her arms disapprovingly. "Fine. We won't talk about it. I'm sure there will be plenty of time for you to think all of this over before they find you."_

"_Wha's that supposed to mean?"_

"_Nothing." She breathed in deeply, regaining her calm. "You spent the next two days basically unable to think, isn't that correct?"_

"_Aye. Swore off the cheap stuff as a result." He grimaced. "The third day of the voyage is wha' matters anyway." Jack could sense an invisible wall between him and Pearl. When had that gone up? Why did women always want men to discuss feelings and emotions and all that rot? Pearl knew him better than any other woman he'd ever met, and yet she still acted like a woman. If she was only in his head, he was quite good at getting women down pat. They were so infuriating!_

"_Well, then, we'll start at the third day." Her tone of voice was icier than normal. Jack only hoped she'd forget her anger by the time they next paused the scenes unfolding in front of them for discussion._

Jack stepped into the galley of the _Pearl_ later than usual the morning of their third day out. He'd slept in. Jack hated sleeping in. He thought of it as a sign of weakness. Based on what he'd seen of the crew for the past three days, they weren't the sort of men to like or listen to weakness. He had to appear tough. Jack still remembered the counsel his pirate father had given him—appearing to be a good pirate and being a good pirate were essentially different things. So long as he had the appearance of being a good pirate, his crew would believe that about him. Right? The first day had gone fairly smoothly, as his hangover had made him surly and unapproachable…but yesterday Ragetti had approached him asking for compensation for his eye, and he'd perhaps gone a little overboard. Larry certainly took advantage of his generosity—in front of the new bos'un, one of the slaves Jack had freed. He was a tall, menacing man. Not one Jack wanted to provoke.

The galley quieted the moment he stepped in, though he was fairly sure he'd heard them speaking in fairly loud whispers about something. They all looked up at him except for Bootstrap. They watched him go to one of the barrels and pick out a banana and then sit down at an empty seat. The silence worried Jack. "Did I miss something?" he queried, sounding a lot less concerned than he actually was as he started to peel the banana. It was getting to the stage where brown spots would soon be appearing. Pity fresh fruit never stayed aboard a ship very well.

Barbossa was standing near one of the tables, leaning on the wall of the galley as he quietly chewed an apple. Other than the normal creaking of the _Pearl_ as she sailed, the only sound Jack could hear was Barbossa munching noisily on the piece of fruit. Apple juice was dribbling down Barbossa's face into his scraggly beard, and he seemed not to mind. His monkey was watching Jack's banana intently.

Jack scanned the room quickly. Something in their eyes seemed to say they were having misgivings about this voyage. Perhaps they thought he didn't know where he was going. Was this the right time to make a mostly rousing speech to convince them of his prowess as a captain? The older faces seemed particularly worried—had they lost all confidence in him after the mistake he'd made with Lubber?

It remained eerily quiet as he started pulling the banana apart into smaller chunks. Jack hated eating straight from the fruit of the banana. There was something quite satisfying to ripping it apart instead. He cleared his throat after swallowing the last chunk of banana. They were still just staring at him. Even Bootstrap was now. He had the feeling that this would be one of the most pivotal moments in the entirety of his captaincy.

"I know some of you 'ave reservations about this upcoming venture of ours, bu' I assure you this one'll be better than the last one. I've got it on good authority that the swag from this one'll be enough to retire on, in fact. Gold given t' Cortez hisself." Jack smiled and paused, hoping to hear a cheer or two, but only silence greeted his ears. Maybe some of them had previously had captains who cared very little for them. Jack doubted Barbossa had made all of them sign his articles given the short time frame in which they'd been assembled—perhaps they had no idea how he ran his ship. It was his duty to do something. "And I promise equal shares for everyone." He didn't really need his customary two shares, right? Most of the money would be going to pay for the crew's injuries. If there was as much as that odd man said there was, why worry?

The cheers finally came at that as he tossed the peel from his banana into the rubbish bin. "I am not a miser," he added as an afterthought. "No sense in keeping everything to meself." That said, the crew finally started to talk amongst themselves. Most seemed excited. Perhaps they'd been under the impression he was going to take all the gold for himself. Sad the way men were treated on a crew anymore, really.

Bootstrap stood and walked over to where Jack was sitting. "Equal shares, huh?" he queried, taking a seat next to the captain.

"Tha's the plan." Jack flashed him a toothy grin as he folded his arms and set them down on the table. "Should be quite the share, too."

Bootstrap looked relieved. "My wife is ill, and I haven't been able to send any money back home for the past few months." Jack recognized the pointed stare aimed in his direction. Why did everyone expect him to care about their lack of money? He didn't have any money either. Lubber had been ruthless. And he'd paid far too much for the cargo currently below deck. "The extra money should 'elp quite a bit. Are ye sure this treasure is real?"

"Reasonably. Got the coordinates from a trustworthy source." Jack normally wouldn't consider Teague a trustworthy source of anything (save perhaps communicable diseases—had he died and left his mother a widow yet?), but he sensed he needed to reassure Bootstrap. The man generally had a level head on his shoulders, even if he was prone to somewhat rash actions from time to time. "Besides…why else would the clues be so cryptic? Honestly, way too much effort for naught." Jack hadn't ever actually told Bootstrap the clues, so the man merely looked confused. Such a look on his face was to be expected, however, with the brilliance that was Captain Jack Sparrow.

"How much do you believe we'll find?" That was probably the question on everybody's mind. It was a pity the little slip of paper hadn't included a cryptic message about the lump sum waiting for them on this mysterious island.

"Well…ransoms are generally quite high…" Jack stroked his beard for a moment. "Perhaps five, ten thousand a piece." At the look of ecstasy on Bootstrap's face, Jack held up his hand. "Don't hold me to that, mate. Could be less, could be more. Could jus' be a chest of coins rather than hills of shiny swag." He hoped that wasn't the case.

Jack was pleased to see Bootstrap finally look relaxed—as though whatever gas he'd been trying not to pass was finally gone. "How long until we reach the island?" Bootstrap asked casually, after a few moments of silence.

Jack considered the question for a moment. "Given the current winds an' our position…maybe five days. Not much out this way. Island certainly isn't on any maps I 'ave." He'd checked them all several times—after waking with a hangover and the next morning as well. "The only thing what is is a spit of land we'll be passing this evening." Jack frowned, not noticing as Bootstrap stood and walked away. "I don' even know why it's on me map—pitiful excuse for an island, really."

He sighed and then shrugged, glancing up. The entire crew had left the galley. He was alone. "Mus' be anxious for tha' treasure," he mused. He went and retrieved another banana, slowly peeling the skin back. He'd ordered far too many bananas—they would have to be eaten quickly in order to prevent them from going bad. It seemed Barbossa had no intention of feeding his monkey bananas. Unless he was just not feeding the monkey a banana because Jack was in the galley. Regardless, the monkey wouldn't be able to eat the plethora of fruit he'd purchased. Perhaps he'd make it mandatory for everyone in his crew to eat bananas. One simply had to reach out and take what had to be taken, after all. No sense in complaining about it. Maybe he'd even be able to convince Barbossa to eat bananas. He'd never seen the first mate eat any fruit other than apples. Doing so would be a fun task. Perhaps he could make a game of it during their voyage.

Significantly cheered, Jack ate the banana and tossed the peel into the rubbish bin before leaving the galley to check the charts again. His fingers itched for the mounds of treasure sure to be waiting for them at the island.


	27. Chapter Twenty Six: The Mutiny

Disclaimer: I do not have permission to be using these characters. Please don't sue me.

_Author's note (6/29/08): _Sorry for the long wait between chapters again. I'm going to try harder to update in the very near future. I've got some intriguing ideas as to what happens between the mutiny and the first movie, so…keep an eye on your inbox. Thanks for putting up with me, loyal readers!

**Chapter Twenty-Six: The Mutiny**

Dusk silently crept across the Caribbean, filling the void left by the setting sun. The normally dark wood of the _Pearl_ appeared black, starkly contrasting with the pinkish-blue sky resting atop the ocean. The temperature was pleasant, for the day had been remarkably hot and humid. The wind was stiff, filling the _Pearl_'s sails as she eagerly headed toward an island that couldn't be found except by those who already knew where it was. It was fine weather for such a voyage. Even if it proved fruitless, Jack wouldn't regret leaving the smelly port in search of swag. Hopefully his crew would share a similar outlook on the venture.

"Cap'n?" Barbossa's voice startled Jack, who was up at the helm checking their bearings one last time before heading below deck to eat to quiet the complaints of his very empty stomach.

Jack slammed his hand down on the map reflexively. "Yes?" Barbossa was far too good at sneaking up on him.

"I've been thinkin'—shouldn' the bearings of the island be common knowledge to the crew?" Barbossa placed one of his hands on the railing of the ship near the helm. His torso twisted away from the railing in order to better view Jack with concern in his grayish eyes. Jack had seen that look in his eyes a lot lately.

"Why?" Jack had never pictured Barbossa as one to thinking of others first, especially since most of the crew were new. Actually, he doubted anyone in his crew, save Bootstrap, did such a thing. Why else would they turn scallywag?

"Well, if everything's equal, the crew should know. Lots o' captains promise one thing an' then do another. Probably reassurin' for 'em to know you trust 'em enough to give up the bearings." Barbossa smiled slightly, lifting his hand from the railing and gesticulating toward the deck behind him.

Barbossa's reasoning seemed impeccable. Jack glanced around on deck, following Barbossa's hand motion. Everyone seemed to be elsewhere—which was odd. Unless his internal clock was off, it wasn't time for their shifts to be up. Perhaps they were discontent because he seemed to have made an empty promise and were grumbling about it in the galley in a potentially dangerous conclave. "Where are they?"

"I've got 'em in the galley. Waitin' t' hear the bearings."

That was reassuring. They probably weren't grumbling about Jack if Barbossa had been the one to make them wait in the galley. Jack grinned. "That was unusually thoughtful of ye…have they been asking about me?" His thoughts this morning had probably fallen on deaf ears.

"A little. Larry's a bit upset abou' what happened wiv our last attempt at riches. Ye didn' deliver yer promise. An' he's still a bit sore at losing wha' he did."

Jack was glad he had such an honest member of his crew to rely on. Barbossa really was the best first mate he could ask for. Of course, Barbossa had never entirely been a fan of Larry. Perhaps he was being a bit naïve in assuming that Barbossa was truly being honest. Still…he had no reason to distrust his first mate. Barbossa had been remarkably helpful so far. "Ah." He frowned. "I should tell them the bearings, then." He stepped toward the staircase leading below deck.

Barbossa put up his hand. "How about ye give 'em t' me first? I'll write them down." He fumbled around in his pocket for a moment before pulling out a bit of parchment. "That way, ye can tell 'em to come to me wiv questions. Wouldn' want you to be too horribly bothered. Mos' of the crew have the memory of a fish."

"Yet again, tha's quite thoughtful," Jack remarked, smiling. "One has to wonder where I'd be wivout you as me first mate."

"I imagine ye as wallowing in the mud." Barbossa smiled momentarily before motioning toward the captain's quarters. "I don't happen to have a quill or ink on me…d' you think we could step inside your cabin for a moment?"

"Of course." Jack, with a slight spring to his step, led Barbossa into his cabin, grabbing a piece of charcoal sitting on his desk and handing it to the man. "I find I end up wiv less ink stains if I jus' use charcoal for bits of information." Jack hated writing formal letters, so the quill he did have had scarcely been used.

Barbossa looked at the charcoal for a moment, raising one of his eyebrows, before positioning it on the scrap of paper awaiting the coordinates.

"Here's the bearings—23ᴼ 13'13.13 North, 70ᴼ 42'15.16 West. In the middle of nowhere, practically, bu' I'm quite sure there's somethin' there." If there wasn't…well, Jack would probably have a very angry crew on his hands—which would likely prove fatal. If a captain wasn't to a crew's liking, the crew very often just killed the captain.

Barbossa hastily scribbled the coordinates down on the piece of paper, folded it, and placed it back from whence it came. "Thank ye kindly, Jack," he said appreciatively. "Now we should go down an' visit the crew. I'm sure they'll be reassured wiv this."

"I hope so," Jack said thickly. Were they all afraid of him shooting them like he had Billy? Hopefully this small gesture would help him atone for the mistake he'd made in the eyes of his crew. He followed Barbossa below deck, surprised yet again as silence filled the galley upon his entrance. Did the crew have some sort of sixth sense with which they could tell when he was nearing it? He stepped in warily, glancing at his crew. Most of them seemed to be on the edge of their seats. Perhaps they expected another grand speech?

Barbossa raised his arms dramatically, holding the piece of parchment proudly between his index finger and thumb. "Gents, Jack 'ere has kindly given up the bearings t' the island." The crew cheered at Barbossa's pronouncement.

"Captain Jack," Jack corrected. Barbossa hardly ever called him by his first name. And he'd never done so in front of the crew. It undermined his position, didn't it? He didn't want to appear weak before these men. Most looked as though they could squish him between their fingers, and would be glad to do so if given a chance. Really, he should've overseen Barbossa's selection a bit more closely.

Barbossa chuckled, turning to look at his captain as he pulled the galley door short. "Ah. About that, Jack…we've had a bit of a vote, you see." He reached down toward his belt.

"A vote?" Jack repeated. Why wouldn't he have been included in a vote? His ship was generally democratic in nature, voting over the more important details of life. Jack generally thought his vote counted as two. There were perks to being captain, after all, or nobody would want the extra responsibility. If anything went wrong, it was the captain's fault.

"Aye." Barbossa pulled out his pistol, cocking it and aiming it directly at Jack's forehead. Jack knew that Barbossa never went anywhere without a gun at the ready, so he stiffened as he realized this was no bluff. "An' we've decided that it be time to relieve you of your duties."

Those words didn't belong together. "On what grounds?" Jack was almost positive he'd wake up now.

"On the grounds of you bein' a piss-poor captain," a man named Koehler growled. The captain was almost certain he'd never seen the black man before—wouldn't he remember the dreadlocks?

"Weren't you jus' hired three days ago?" Jack asked, hoping to distract his crew.

"I've been aboard the _Pearl_ for a year," Koehler spat back, clenching his fist.

The answer caught Jack off guard. "Really?" He looked intently at Koehler, tilting his head in several directions in an attempt to jar his memory. "I could swear on pain of death I don' remember seeing you before." He looked away from the man, scanning all the faces in the crowded galley, hoping to see at least one or two shocked or outraged. None did. In fact, Bootstrap seemed upset with him. Ragetti, who normally seemed unaware of everything, looked ready to slit his throat. Pintel's fists were clenched. Even the cook was holding a fairly sharp knife tightly. Jack couldn't remember ever making enemies with him…but apparently he had. Twigg stepped forward with a length of rope and tied Jack's hands together, cutting off some of the blood circulation in the process as he tightened them as much as his strength would allow.

Koehler swore. The rest of the crew started muttering obscenities directed toward Jack, his parents, and his apparent confusion as to his real gender. The noise died out as Barbossa put up his hand, though he was obviously enjoying this.

"You ain't fit t' be our captain," Twigg said as he abruptly stood up and pointed his finger toward Jack. He started wagging it as though Jack were a small child in need of a reprimand. His beady eyes were full of loathing. "Ain't fit at all."

"I made _one_ mistake," Jack protested, his dark eyes flashing back and forth as he tried to find an escape from the cramped room. Unfortunately, the only way out of the galley was the way in, and Barbossa showed no signs of moving. "Let's not lose our heads over this, mates." He looked at Bootstrap specifically. "More'n enough treasure t' adequately compensate ye for me mistake."

Twigg punched Jack in the stomach, who stared at Twigg for a moment, disbelief written on his face. Of course, he probably deserved a good beating. He'd murdered Billy and left Larry with hardly any means to survive. He wasn't even sure if Larry was actually aboard the ship anymore. The rest of the crew stood, rushing at him like eager hyenas. He was surrounded by his crew, and blow after blow hit him. The only thought crossing his mind was about the bruises he'd end up with—provided they didn't kill him. He'd certainly be an interesting color once they tired of beating him. If they tired of beating him. Several minutes of blunt trauma passed as everyone tried to get a piece of the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow. If he weren't in so much pain, he would probably see it as more of a compliment than an insult.

As far as beatings went, the one he was currently receiving didn't seem all that terrible. Jack felt he deserved to be punished. Of course, that all changed when Ragetti bit his finger, causing Jack to cry out. That seemed to be the signal which Barbossa wanted, for after he heard Jack, he shot the pistol up into the air. "Tha's enough. Leave 'im be." Ragetti kicked Jack once more for good measure as the rest of the crew slowly backed away. Jack really couldn't blame the man—it was his fault Ragetti was now missing an eye.

Barbossa grinned at Jack's disheveled appearance. His lower lip was bleeding, and his left eye was starting to turn dark and swollen. "I'm afraid the only thing what will compensate us for your 'one' mistake'll be the _Pearl_, Jack."

Jack's jaw dropped. "You can't have her. She's my ship." If it weren't for him, she'd be at the bottom of a harbor. How could Barbossa think he had any right to take her from him? Sure, Barbossa wanting to be captain was somewhat predictable…but Barbossa wanting his ship? Wouldn't Barbossa just demote him to a cabin boy or powder monkey or something demeaning like that?

"I says differently." Jack momentarily saw the last few days flash before his eyes. He'd hoped to spend his last week of life sober… Or very drunk. Not a mixture of both. "We've 'ad enough of you, Jack." The crew hooted at this, bloodlust in their eyes as they waited for Barbossa to pull the trigger.

Jack seemed to feel every blow he'd just sustained all over again. His stomach felt queer, and part of him wanted to jump into the ocean and inhale water. His crew thought his life was worthless. Perhaps it was. Perhaps this was what was required to atone for the mistake he'd made. Why live without his ship or crew? Why bother continuing? He had nothing. Again. "Then shoot me."

"Shoot 'im," Ragetti and Pintel said simultaneously. The rest of the crew hooted their agreement, obviously hungry for a little bloodshed before finding the treasure Jack had promised would fix all their problems.

Barbossa smiled slightly. He pulled out his second pistol (any pirate worth his salt carried a brace of pistols) and cocked it, preparing to shoot. Bootstrap stepped between Barbossa and Jack. "Captain," he said, putting his hand up. Perhaps the man had realized the error of his ways. Jack had treated Bootstrap well, hadn't he? Maybe Bootstrap was going to save his life and his ship and talk sense into his stupid crew.

"What is it?" Barbossa snapped, clearly upset.

Bootstrap shuffled on his feet. "I don' think we should kill him."

Barbossa lowered his finger from the trigger. "Why not?" He glared at Bootstrap as though he were an annoying cat meowing at the door.

"It's what he wants." Bootstrap was right, of course. If Jack didn't have his ship, what was the point in living? He'd left behind everything he'd ever had in his life in order to become a pirate captain and to live aboard the _Black Pearl_. He'd even sold his very soul.

"'E's got a point," Twigg remarked with a grunt. The frenzied look to his beady eyes seemed to dissipate. "Ain't no fun killin' a man what wants to die."

Barbossa frowned, but finally lowered his second pistol. "By the powers, you're right," he said, apparently adopting their idea without rancor. "We're passing an island right now, aren't we?"

Bootstrap nodded. "Tiny little spit of land."

"Yer in luck, Jack Sparrow. You'll be made governor of an entire island in exchange fer this proud vessel. Fair trade, innit?"

Jack said nothing. The look on his face was enough to convince Barbossa this course of action would be more enjoyable. Jack would be made to suffer until he starved to death. "Masters Koehler and Pintel—please escort this scurvy dog t' the main deck. He's got an island t' take care of."

Koehler and Pintel stepped forward, grabbing Jack by the arms and pulling him out of the door. Ragetti followed, kicking Jack in the shins whenever he got the chance. More often than not, the one-eyed pirate missed due to his poor depth perception, but he laughed the entire time. He was followed by Barbossa, who had his gun at the ready in case Jack decided to try and escape, and the rest of the crew. They were as gleeful as a pack of hyenas upon finding a lion's kill that had been abandoned by lions. They wanted to rip him apart, to claim another piece of Jack Sparrow as their own before he was banished to death. They were ready to act the moment Barbossa told them to.

"Jack Sparrow," Barbossa said grandly as the violent procession boiled onto the main deck near a chink in the railing. "Ye've been found wanting. Consequently, ye've been banished t' that spit of land, there." He pointed toward the island, which seemed miles away. Barbossa had no intention of dropping him off nearby. Perhaps he hoped to see a shark rip him to pieces.

"Is tha' so?" Jack's voice sounded odd even to him. It was as though he had no substance behind it anymore. "Banishment seems like a terribly light punishment."

Barbossa smiled slightly and shrugged. "I don' know about that, Jack. Think about it. Ye'll be on that island for maybe a week or two 'fore you starve to death. Far worse death than any bullet could bring. An', to make it even better, ye'll be landlocked when ye die." It was far more embarrassing for a pirate to die at land rather than at sea.

"Well, when you put it tha' way…" Jack trailed off.

"Captain," Bootstrap's voice cut through the jeers of the crew like a rapier. "Isn' it customary t' give a man wha's marooned a pistol? Just so 'e can take the coward's way out, o' course."

Barbossa smiled at the thought of Jack ending his own life. "Ye be right," he said, with a gleeful note to his voice. "Can't spit on tradition, now can we?" At the shouts of the crew, Barbossa looked at the pistol in his hand and tucked it into Jack's sash. If anything bumped the trigger during his drop to the ocean, Jack would find himself missing some bits of him he'd really rather not be without. Of course, once he hit the water, he would be relatively safe due to wet powder. Which also meant he'd have to wait in order to end his life, should he succumb to such desires. "Even when a worm such as you don' deserve tradition. Yer not a pirate." He smiled slightly and patted Jack's cheek as though he were a very young child.

"Thank you," Jack said mechanically. This was all just a dream. He was going to wake up any moment to the sound of his crew laughing below deck while playing a game with cards or something. He couldn't really be here. Davy Jones wouldn't let someone take the _Pearl_ from him, would he?

"Bon voyage," Ragetti said, emphasizing the last syllable as he pushed Jack toward a gap in the bulwarks lining the side of the ship. "Don' write. 'Cause we can't read." He laughed wildly at his own joke, apparently awed by his wit, as Barbossa kicked Jack through the gap and down into the water.

It was colder than expected, filling his nostrils with a vengeance commonly mentioned in the Old Testament. Part of Jack wanted to drown. It would be preferable to living with the shame now hanging onto his shoulders like a lamprey and a thousand leeches. His hands were tied together, which meant that swimming would be difficult even if he hadn't been kicked in the ribs a few times. Perhaps he had been beat. Perhaps the best way to foil Barbossa was to die now, rather than starving to death. There was nothing on that island. Why bother swimming to nothing?

His legs started automatically kicking as his air started to run out. He surfaced a moment later, facing his beloved vessel. She was racing away from him. Abandoning him, though he'd been the one to give her renewed life. He was alone, and he let the water overtake him. Drowning was better than starving. The sea could claim him; he was finished.

"_I'm interested in knowin' exactly what you were thinking here," Jack commented languidly. He was floating near the top of the water, glancing at the now-stopped vessel rather than looking at himself. Pearl, meanwhile, was busy staring toward the island. She didn't react to Jack's comment. "Pearl?"_

"_Jack," Pearl said, softly, after a small pause. "I'm in your head, remember? I can only think what you think I should think. And, at the time, you thought I'd betrayed you…so I suppose I thought I was doing you a favor."_

"_Tha's hogwash."_

"_It's the truth, Jack," Pearl insisted. "Besides—maybe it was a favor. You really didn't know what you were doing. It wasn't hard for Barbossa to convince the others to mutiny, you know. Only took about ten minutes for him to win over Bootstrap, and he was your biggest supporter." Seeing the look of disbelief on Jack's face, she sighed. "You wouldn't be who you are now if you hadn't been marooned, Jack." _

_He folded his arms, clearly upset._

_She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Fine. Be mad at me, Jack. You didn't do much to avoid the mutiny, now did you? And it took you ten years to find me again, remember? Why'd you wait so long if you loved me so much?"_

_He said nothing in response. She did have a point. Perhaps he ought to have tried to get her back sooner…the time after the mutiny had passed in a whirlwind. He'd scarcely had time to think about her before being whisked off to another adventure. Not that he'd say that aloud. She was still upset at him for being with all those women, and he didn't want to make his guide perturbed. That could prove to be disastrous. "Sorry," he muttered, though he scarcely meant it. This was the worst moment of his life. How could she still be so insensitive?_

His mouth was dry. Was it terribly hot in Hell, then? Jack didn't feel as though he was burning, but why would he wake up in Heaven with a dry mouth? Assuming life continued after death, that was. Jack had previously believed nothing existed after death. But his mouth was dry and he was thinking. That meant he was wrong. He still did exist, which meant that someone was right about the afterlife—which probably meant that at least one preacher had it right. Logically, he was now either in Heaven or Hell as he still existed. The dry mouth, coupled by the occasional muffled sound, proved it.

Would an angel appear and then explain to him why he felt incredibly dry? Or would some demon poke him until he screamed for eternity for being such a rotten scoundrel? If he was in Hell, it would certainly prove Barbossa wrong about him being a bad pirate. If he had been a bad pirate, he wouldn't be in Hell. He'd wind up in Heaven. And if he was in Heaven, that would mean he could spend the rest of eternity playing a harp or something. Jack really didn't understand why Christians thought that would be fun…but existing and playing a harp would be far better than not existing any longer. He could watch his ship. Talk to God about the meaning of life. And maybe figure out how women thought so as to avoid slaps from former flames, should he ever have the opportunity to see them again. Could dead people slap one another without the benefit of a body?

A sharp pinch on his right thumb quickly dispelled any thoughts of celestial glory from the former captain's thoughts. This had to be Hell. With a groan, he opened his eyes. His eyelids felt as though they were weighted down by ballast, but he eventually pried both open in a hurry as he felt another pinch on his thumb. What he saw confused him quite a lot. He'd been expecting to see one of the appropriate circles of Hell. By his reckoning, Jack believed himself to be in the eighth circle amongst the thieves in the seventh _bolgia_. However, he didn't see any large snakes chasing around other famous thieves. Instead, he saw sand, bits of crab shells, a few sparse blades of grass, and the Caribbean. He wasn't dead.

Jack sat up abruptly as he felt yet another pinch. Attached to his thumb was a crab, apparently preparing to eat a bit of the now marooned man. His thumb was bleeding from all three pinches. "Bloody crab," he muttered, grabbing it by the shell and tossing it down the beach once it let go of his thumb. He was neither in Heaven nor in Hell. It was far worse. He was still alive.

Sand was plastered to his face. He'd been lying on the beach after washing up for a few hours, based on the low tide. "Great job a' killing yourself, Jack," he remarked sardonically to himself as he brushed at the sand on his cheek. "Yer about as good at suicide as ye are as a pirate. Hector's pro'lly beside himself laughing." A flash of two Barbossa's standing side by side while messing up Jack's cabin flashed in front of his eyes. The man would ruin everything. And he would undoubtedly find the secret stash he had in a chest of rum. It was good rum. Spiced. And now it was Barbossa's, along with everything else Jack wasn't currently wearing. His list of supplies was pitiful. Why didn't he wander around with fruit in his boots more often? He would have something now to quiet his stomach…

He glanced down at the gun still tucked between his sash and his torso, mildly surprised to see it. In a few hours, the powder would be dry. He could end his life then. But until the powder was ready to be used again, there was no sense in lollygagging about with an empty stomach. Jack pulled the pistol out and set it down on the beach away from where the water had deposited him nearer to the grass. It was a decently-sized spit of land. Perhaps there would be something to eat further inland. He took one step forward and frowned as he realized the inside of his boots were still full of water. "Tha's annoying," he remarked, as he sat down on the sand with a whumph and pulled both boots off. He tipped one upside down, amazed by the amount of water that poured out. He wasn't about to off himself with wet boots like this! He was going to die in comfort, not as some coward barely able to string two words together from a lack of food and water. Barbossa would never expect him to take such a noble way out, would he?

He stood again, bumbling his way into the center of the island. Every few steps he would curse as he stepped on a shell. Why were there so many ruddy shells on an island, anyway? The bottoms of his feet were covered in small cuts by the time he finally gave up and collapsed next to a palm tree. He'd walked around the entire island. The only thing close to edible was the grass he was currently sitting on. He didn't want grass to be his last meal. That wasn't a fitting meal for anyone, let alone former Captain Jack Sparrow! Surely there was more to eat than grass.

He leaned his head back, hitting it on the tree. Part of him was tempted to rip the bark off and see exactly what was underneath. Maybe grown palm trees tasted as good as hearts-of-palm. Something about the sound he'd just heard was a little odd, however. He placed his ear next to the tree as he half-turned and knocked on the trunk. It sounded hollow. Trees weren't generally hollow, were they?

Intrigued, Jack decided he needed to knock on all the other trees on the island. Perhaps he'd discovered an island full of hollow palm trees. Admittedly, it wasn't the most miraculous discovery—but building a hut with hollow palm trees would be a sight easier than with normal ones. Cutting through them would take half the effort. He could use his sword. And after he fashioned a place to live, maybe he could make a dugout. Or he could make the dugout first. Either way, he could get off and find that ungrateful cur who'd abandoned him here. The poetic justice of shooting him with his own pistol was too poignant to deny. He would shoot Barbossa with the pistol he'd kindly given him and then take back his ship.

A curious euphoria flooded the man as he stepped toward the next tree. Three wobbly steps later, the ground felt funny. Tilting his head, he jumped up and down a few times, clearly puzzled by the sensation beneath his feet. Something was buried beneath the sand. Something hollow. Perhaps this was one of the islands rumrunners used as a cache. If so, he would be able to wet his lips before starting his dugout with one of the hollow trees. He knelt, carefully feeling around the sand until the outline of a square appeared. He cleared the sand off the top of the square. It was a cache filled with at least thirty bottles of rum.

"Well…this isn' so bad," he remarked as he reached in and retrieved the closest bottle. He probably wouldn't even have to make a dugout. This was obviously used by rumrunners. And, based on the load here, they would probably be back in order to make a hefty profit before too much longer. All he had to do was lie on the beach drinking rum in order to be saved. Luck hadn't abandoned him, even if the _Pearl_ had.


	28. Chapter Twenty Seven: The Marooned

_Disclaimer: _Still no permission.

_Author's note (7/6/08)_: Ha. I bet you thought I wasn't going to update again until October or something. Fooled ya. I hope you like this one. Things are going to get very interesting in the next few chapters. Unfortunately, no update next week. I'll be on vacation. Wahoo!

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Marooned **

Three days of doing little more than lying on a beach drinking rum was exactly what Jack needed, in his opinion. It was a bit sunny, but the temperature wasn't unbearable. He had more than enough to drink, so there was little sense in trying to find something to eat. Rum could satiate nearly any hunger if the supplies of it seemed limitless. He figured that if no one showed up in the next few days, he would finally get up and discover if the rest of the palm trees on his island (which he'd dubbed Panegyric) were hollow like the one near the cache or not. If there was a hope of him being rescued, there was no point in him bothering to go through the effort of chopping out part of the palm tree for a lazy dugout. His sabre wasn't designed to chop through wood.

Of course, three days of lying on a beach drinking rum wasn't entirely good for his sense of reality. Jack wasn't entirely sure when he first started seeing hallucinations (it might've been after his tenth bottle), but they were now quite frequent. Most were harmless visions of sultry women in skimpy clothes, but a few were downright disturbing. Last night—or, he thought it was the night—he'd seen a tiger stalking his little island. Rather than the characteristic tawny color of tigers, it seemed to be bright orange with black stripes far darker than any night had ever been. It had come right up to his corner of the beach, sniffing around as he tried to stay perfectly still. Until a crab pinched him, he felt as though he were part of the sand. After the crab pinched him, however, he moved. And that move was enough for the tiger to see. Jack could've sworn he'd felt those claws ripping into his flesh, tearing into his muscles. The teeth had been particularly sharp. As they started to work into his neck, he fainted. Upon rousing, he'd been confused by the fact he wasn't a bloody mess.

Jack wasn't aware that dehydration exacerbated by the rum was causing his delirium. The more he drank, the thirstier he was due to the diuretic nature of alcohol. If he were to continue lying on his pristine beach drinking rum, he would likely slip into a coma and die. He needed water and he needed some sort of food. His situation was far graver than he felt it was. The world had never seemed so bittersweet before. The only thing that would make the entire vacation perfect would be his ship floating off shore. Sometimes he thought he saw the distinctive dark wood of his beloved vessel bobbing nearby. Even in his dehydrated state, he knew it to be an illusion. His ship was gone for good. Barbossa would take the treasure and then leave. Finding one ship in all the oceans of the world was practically impossible without knowing exactly where it was going to be. Jack doubted that Barbossa would stay put for very long. The _Pearl_ was far too valuable a ship to leave it unattended for long. It was the fastest ship in the Caribbean, and could probably even outrun Davy Jones' barnacle-encrusted ship. Hector Barbossa was no fool.

On the morning of the fourth day, Jack awoke from his vivid dreams with one of the worst hangovers in recorded history. Had he been able to drink fresh water the night before falling asleep, it wouldn't have been quite as vicious, but as it was, he felt as though someone were trying to drive a thousand slivers through his skull with a mallet weighing over fifteen tons. Every part of his head ached. He could swear he could feel his pupils writhing in pain. The light of the morning sun hurt so badly he wanted to shoot himself. In fact, after a few minutes of trying and failing to block the sun with his hands, he got up to his hands and knees and started to crawl around in search of the pistol Barbossa had so kindly given him. He moved like a blind arthritic dog. Each movement was painstakingly slow in an attempt to keep his equilibrium.

He had nearly reached the pistol an hour or so later when an unexpected bit of shade blocked out the sun. Palm trees generally offered little in the way of shade. He didn't care, at the moment. He just wanted the pounding sensation in his head to disappear. Every time his heart beat, his head ached. If he could just stop his heart from beating, he would be fine. He crawled forward. The shade, oddly enough, followed him.

"You know, boy, you probably drank half me supply," the shade said in a deep voice. It was a very familiar voice that hurt his ears. "I should jus' kill you."

Jack slowly lowered his body to the ground. "It would be much appreciated," he murmured, thickly. "Wouldn' have t' do it meself." He had to be hearing things.

"That so?" The shade laughed. "Well, it'd be a shame for me t' kill ye. Much rather have you do me dirty work if you're so ready an' willing t' off yerself, Jackie. Less mess on me hands."

Jack finally decided to look up at the talking shade. Would it be a shadow? Perhaps he was hearing from his alter ego right now. Or, maybe it would be one of the trees. Or perhaps a cloud following him around. He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes to ascertain exactly what it was trying to communicate to him. What he saw took him quite by surprise. "Captain Teague?"

The man smiled broadly and bowed slightly. "You're quite a sight worse for eyes this time, Jackie. Really 'ave let yourself go. Does the Company make it a habit o' leaving mites on islands, then? Or did you jus' get special treatment?"

Jack blinked a few times as he waited for the hallucination of his father to disappear. Captain Teague couldn't really be at the island, could he? Especially not looking so healthy. The last time Jack had seen the infamous pirate, he'd been about ready to die from cirrhosis. But the man standing on the beach providing shade from the sun looked healthy. His skin was a healthy tan color from time under the sun, and he seemed better able to stand without wobbling. Jack was convinced it was a hallucination. There was no other reasonable explanation as to how Teague was still even alive. "How'd you get 'ere?"

"I sailed on a ship, Jackie. Same way you got 'ere, I presume." Teague looked away from Jack, motioning toward the empty bottles of rum on the beach. Jack had barely made it ten feet away. "Who said you could drink me rum?"

Jack shrugged slightly, wincing at the volume of Teague's voice. Why couldn't he hallucinate something or someone soothing? "I did."

Teague shook his head in disgust. "Tha' was me special rum, Jackie. Worth a fortune."

"Well, I'll be sure t' pay you back for it, then," Jack said sardonically.

"You will," Teague agreed. He narrowed his eyes slightly as he looked at Jack. His expression was that of disappointment. "Normally, I'd kill a whelp like ye for even daring to think of drinkin' me special brew…but as you've likely done summat to greatly piss off Cutler Beckett…I think I'll let you live. Why else would you be 'ere all by your onesies?"

"Ye know, for being a hallucination from me mind, you know practically nothing about me," Jack said, sounding disappointed in turn. "In the very leas', you could pretend to know tha' I've turned pirate."

Teague laughed. The sound seemed to drive a million slivers through Jack's brain. Why couldn't this shade-bringer just up and disappear? Jack wanted to stop his heart so that he wouldn't have to feel this much pain ever again. "You, a pirate?" Teague laughed again.

"Tha's what the brand says." Jack closed his eyes and counted to fifty. He expected the hallucination of the annoying man to disappear when he opened his eyes again. Unfortunately, Teague was still there. Though, this time he was kneeling next to Jack to presumably find the brand on his forehead. The pirate legend pulled Jack's bandanna up. "It isn' there. Beckett wan'ed t' brand me arms, legs, an' forehead. I was going t' be drawn an' quartered."

"So where is it, then?" Teague asked, sloppily placing the bandanna back where it belonged. His fingers smelled like rope and seawater. Jack felt terribly ill.

"Right wrist. Well, above it." He winced as Teague pulled his left shirt sleeve up.

"I don' see no brand." Teague sounded quite suspicious now. Jack didn't understand why his hallucination was even bothering to check. What did it matter, anyway?

"My right, no' yours."

"Ah." Teague pulled up the other sleeve. "So you do. Amazing. Perhaps you are me son af'er all." A branded pirate was an oddity, especially if Beckett did the branding. They were normally killed soon after being marked. That meant that Jack had managed to escape from a fatal situation. Perhaps there was hope for the whelp yet. "A' the very least, you're not a waste of skin anymore."

"Thanks." Jack glared up at Teague. "Now…go back inside me head like the others did an' leave me be. I've got a meeting wiv tha' pistol scheduled an' I'd hate to miss it."

"Sorry, boy, but I can't let you do that."

"Why not?"

"Ye owe me for the rum." Teague grinned slightly as he grabbed Jack's right arm and then stood. He pulled the younger man up easily, draping Jack's arm around his shoulder. "Come on."

Jack's body violently protested at the abrupt change in elevation. His stomach seemed lodged somewhere in his throat. He wanted to throw up. It would relieve some of the pain, if only for a moment. But he didn't want to throw up on this hallucination of Captain Edward Teague. Even if it was all in his head, he had no desire to mortify himself. Teague was a legend. If Jack ever wanted to be considered a serious pirate, it would be quite helpful indeed for him to have a legend espousing his virtues, if only in his dreams. Perhaps this particular hallucination would vindicate his actions when they'd been attacked by Lubber. He didn't feel up to mentioning it, though.

"Yer like a sack of moldy potatoes, boy," Teague complained as he started walking. Jack was concentrating so hard on not vomiting he wasn't moving his legs. "Course, you smell worse. How long you been on me cache island?"

"Three days." He moved his hand in as grand a motion as he could in an attempt to gesture toward the island. He ended up looking like a very drunk chorister. "An' I call it Panegyric."

Teague didn't look toward the island. He seemed to have his gaze fixed toward a black spot on the water. It seemed he was now imagining a boat. Why wouldn't his father's hallucination come without a boat? "Panegyric?"

"Aye."

"Tha's a stupid name."

"Why?"

"Because it's an island."

"So?"

"The name don' apply. An island can't give a man high praise af'er he dies."

"Sure it can."

"Ye been out in the sun too long, boy."

"Three days is nothin'. I spent nearly every day before it out in the sun."

"Not like this. How'd you end up on me island, Jackie?"

"It's _my_ island. I was made gov'nor of Panegyric. Trees voted me in."

"Trees don' vote."

"Hollow ones do." Jack winced as his feet suddenly became cold. They were walking in the surf. Up ahead, a small boat waited on the beach. There were a few other men nearby, pointing toward both Jack and Teague and talking. Jack couldn't understand what they were saying. They were darker men, and they were wearing little more than grass loincloths and various bits of animal bones through their skin. One was painted like a skeleton. They seemed to know Teague, however, and didn't particularly look hostile. One even seemed to be laughing, which made the bone through his lower lip puff out at an odd angle. Why was he now hallucinating islanders? Jack knew the island was uninhabited. Of course, he knew it was pointless to question hallucinations, even if they seemed real. They never made any sense whatsoever—much like dreams.

"Come on, Jackie. Lif' those feet up, boy." Jack was pulled from his musings abruptly as he realized that they were now standing next to the small craft. Teague was apparently going to rescue him from this bizarre island. Why would Teague do that? Jack frowned slightly as he lifted his feet up. He just needed to stop questioning this hallucination. He would undoubtedly fall back asleep and wake up in the very same position on that beach. At least Teague didn't seem intent on killing Jack like the tiger had. And he was a step up from the knives accompanying the tide. "Tha's a good lad."

"Where are we goin'?" he asked, drowsily, as Teague helped him sit down on one of the seats. He slid backwards like a jellyfish, hitting his head on the very bottom of the dingy. His head hardly registered the pain—it was just another wave from the hangover.

"To me ship," Teague replied, one of his eyebrows arched in concern. "You 'ave a debt to pay, Jackie. Owe me for the rum." When Jack didn't even bother to say 'ouch', he merely shrugged.

"Technically, it was my rum as it was on me island. Possession's nine-tenths o' the law, innit?" Jack grinned sloppily. Three of Teague's fellow hallucinations put a few crates into the boat near Jack's head. Teague reached behind him and pulled Jack into a sitting position, though leaning against the crates. Jack didn't slide over, so the weathered man busied himself elsewhere. He spoke to the natives in a curious manner. Apparently Jack was good at hallucinating languages, for the natives seemed to understand and went to work preparing the little vessel for going back out to sea.

The craft lurched forward as two of the natives pushed it toward the water while two other ones pulled. Once it was into the waiting tide, all five jumped aboard. Two started rowing as the one painted like a skeleton took the rudder at the back. They managed to break past the surf without any problems. Once Teague was assured their vessel was on the correct course, he turned to look at Jack. "You do owe me for the rum."

"Can't prove it was me wha' did the drinking."

"Yer still three sheets t' the wind, boy," Teague pointed out. "Not t' mention the only person on yer island."

"I'm not convinced. Are you convinced?" He glanced up at the man at the rudder sitting nearby. The painted man ignored Jack entirely. "Why don' you have people wha' understand English?"

"Oh, he understands English," Teague said with a chuckle. "'E jus' don' like you."

"Why not?"

"Too noisy. They like t' eat people in their village wha' speak too much." Teague motioned toward Jack and made a few odd noises again, eliciting laughter from his little crew.

"Cannibals?" Jack asked himself, glancing at his father's choice in a crew. Well, according to the non-logic of hallucinations and dreams, it made complete sense for Teague to travel around with cannibals. "Do you 'appen t' have any rum handy? Dying of thirst."

"Ye'll get grog soon enough. Don' want you to get sick aboard me little boat here. No more rum, though. Had enough o' that."

Jack's stomach lurched uncomfortably as the little craft climbed a swell. "I think I might be sick."

"Not on me cargo, you won't." Teague nodded at one of the natives who were rowing, smacking a fist against his palm. Jack watched the man pick the oar up and move it toward him. The world went black.

"_That wasn't very nice," Pearl commented upon watching Jack be whacked over the head with the oar. "Couldn't he have helped you lean over the side?"_

"_He's not exactly the sort o' man t' do that, Pearl," Jack said with a chuckle. "It doesn' really matter. I thought this was all in me head anyway. When I realized it wasn't, it din' matter. One knock to the head is nothin'."_

"_I don't know about that…don't you remember the one you got when you first met Gibbs?"_

_The puzzled look on Jack's face was enough of an answer._

"_I suppose not." She sighed. "Ah well." The scales appeared behind her. "You know, you did steal all of that rum from Captain Teague. It counts against you."_

"_I think he probably stole it first," Jack protested. "Shouldn' he be the one to have it count agains' him?"_

"_Everyone's judged for their own actions, Jack," Pearl explained patiently. "He'll get his rewards for everything he's done when he dies."_

_The answer seemed to upset Jack. "Fine. Do I get good points back for paying him back?"_

"_It depends on how you pay him back."_

_The pirate grinned. Even if he didn't get points back on the grand scale, the process of paying Teague back for the rum he'd had would be interesting._

"Where am I?"

"You're aboard _Queen Mary's Revenge_." The voice was feminine and oddly familiar. This had to be another hallucination. The bedding he felt underneath him was really just the sand.

"How'd I get 'ere?"

"Aboard me boat." This second voice was deeper than the first. Significantly deeper. Jack cracked an eye open. It was like prying the lid off a newly coopered barrel. He tilted his head toward the sound of the noise. It took him a moment to focus, but soon he made out the shape of Teague. Why was Teague still in his hallucinations?

"Oh." He winced. "How long've I been aboard?"

"About four hours. I didn't think you were going to wake up."

Jack turned his head to investigate the source of the female voice. His other eye shot open in surprise, sending flecks of dried gunk upward, as he recognized who it was. "Mum?"

"Who were you expecting?" Rosalyn smiled slightly. She was missing a few teeth she had once had. Her beautiful dark hair was nearly silver with age. She looked far too wrinkled for her age. Perhaps this was why few women became pirates—premature aging.

"I…I don' really know."

"Then wipe tha' look off yer face, boy," Teague said. He didn't entirely sound happy with Jack. It took him a moment to remember why that would be.

"Is there anythin' t' drink?" Jack asked, trying to sit up. Rosalyn put her veined and spotty hand on his shoulder to keep him from doing so.

"Yes. But sit still, Jackie. You've been on a beach with nothing to eat or drink other than Eddy's rum. A diet like that really isn't healthy. Nearly killed Eddy 'fore me an' him got married." She smiled slightly. The smell escaping from the gaps where teeth had once been was rancid. How was it that his mother was looking dreadfully old while his father was looking younger? She moved her hand from his shoulder and grabbed a small flask from her belt. She uncorked it, and placed it to Jack's lips.

"Ye know, boy, I woulda killed you if you'd been anyone else," Teague drawled, balling his fists in a distinctively aggressive pose. "I coulda made a lo' of money on that rum."

He coughed a bit on the grog as he swallowed it. "I thought you brough' me here t' discuss the financial remuneration o' said rum."

"I did. An' tha's what we're doin' now." Teague smiled very slightly, lifting up his left foot and placing it on Jack's bed. Both he and Rosalyn were sitting nearby, though on opposite sides of Jack's berth. He was marginally glad they weren't swapping spit like they had been the last time he'd seen the couple together.

"Well, you should be aware I don' really have much to offer. My firs' mate mutinied an' left me wivout my ship."

"Oh, heavens!" Rosalyn sounded more like a mother at that moment than she ever had during Jack's childhood. "You poor dear. That must've been dreadful." She clutched at his hand desperately. "Eddy, you can't expect him to pay you back if he doesn't have anything."

Teague put up his hand. "Ros, I don' care. He's worse'n a Company man. A marooned pirate. I won' have this miserable excuse fer a anything marring me record by reneging on a debt for the fortunate circumstances regardin' his parentage."

Rosalyn stood up, folding her arms across her chest. She looked remarkably intimidating for an old woman. "Well, then, what do you suggest?"

"Jackie's goin' t' pay me by service. I've got a few errands wha' need t' be run in order t' secure me place as Keeper o' the Code."

"Why would ye hire me if I'm a poor excuse for a anything?" Jack couldn't help but ask. What sort of grand and illogical answer would this hallucination of Teague think of next?

"Because I can trus' you won' nibble off me finger in the middle of the night, Jackie. Otherwise I would jus' toss you overboard."

"Ah." Jack smiled slightly. "Wha' sort of errands would we be runnin'?"

"We'll be visitin' the old pirate lords in order t' convince them I should be the new Keeper." Teague grinned lazily. "E'en a nothing like you should be able t' handle it. Mos'ly, you'll jus' mind the boat."

Jack had no idea what Teague was talking about, but he figured probing further into the mind of a hallucination was a waste of time. Besides, he was suddenly quite tired. The bed was comfortable. He decided to put it to use until it turned to sand again. "Right. It's agreed. We've an accord. I'll jus'…" he yawned. "Help ye."

"Good." Teague slowly stood up. "Keep an eye on the whelp, Ros. I want t' get me money's worth o' work out of him." She nodded, smiling as she looked down at her son. Her smelly smile was the last thing Jack saw before falling asleep.


	29. Chapter Twenty Eight: The Frenchman

_Disclaimer:_ I'm not allowed to use these characters.

_Author's note(10/13/08):_ Yeah…I'm really bad at updating. I know. Shame on me. But here you are! Hot from the presses (or, rather, lukewarm), for your reading pleasure:

**Chapter 28: The Frenchman**

"I don' really get why they say it 'niece' an' we label it as Nice on our maps. Phonetically, it doesn' make much sense. Shouldn' we try to label towns as close t' their native's way of pronouncin' it? Makes more sense to me that way."

"Ye know, Jackie, a man might say you're too many thoughts. Why share 'em all?" The tone to Teague's voice seemed to indicate he was in no mood to hear Jack ramble. After Jack had finally accepted the fact that his rescue from the godforsaken spit of land had not been imagined, he'd been trying his hardest to please the oft silent and broody man who'd stolen his mother's heart. One of the reasons he itched for approval was the hope that Teague, in a gesture of paternal love, would erase the debt he owed entirely, giving him more freedom aboard the _Queen Mary's Revenge_. Jack was treated as an idiot deckhand. During their voyage to the Mediterranean, he'd been given the worst tasks, including a biweekly cleaning of the head. Teague's other crewmen seemed to enjoy treating a white man as little more than a slave. Jack had tried to get his mother on his side, but Teague had convinced her the only way Jack would ever amount to anything was to work his way through the embarrassment of a demotion and learn to be a better pirate. Jack hated being cornered into manual labor. He wanted to gain Teague's good graces and weasel his way back to the top. Being a deckhand at the age of twenty-eight was just pathetic.

"Well, a man might also say one who don' talk has no thoughts at all." At the look on Teague's face, Jack resumed rowing with twice the effort he'd previously been using. They were on the southern coast of France trying to track down the pirate lord of the Mediterranean—Captain Gustave Flaubert. Teague had explained very little to Jack about the plan, or about what he had to do in order to become Keeper of the Code (which Jack had always assumed to be just a myth). He had said very little about everything. Jack still wasn't sure what a pirate lord was, and hated the fact that his father left him with unanswered questions. He imagined that this Flaubert fellow would answer at least some of them. It would ease his mind a lot to have one or two questions answered. Was the title inherited from one's father? If not, Jack wanted to find a way wherein he would become a lord. Pirate Lord Captain Jack Sparrow had a dreadfully nice ring to it. Barbossa would come to regret his mutinous acts.

Presently they arrived at the beach. Jack and two of the natives hopped out and pulled their small craft ashore. Sand smelling of seaweed clung to Jack's boots. Once all was secure, Teague stepped out. "Jackie'll be comin' wiv me." He glanced at Jack sternly before turning to the other two. "You know what to do," he added, in their tongue. Jack comprehended exactly what had been said, but had no idea what the meaning of it was. He had been feigning ignorance for the past few weeks whenever Teague or the natives spoke in their curious tongue. He didn't want Teague to know he could eavesdrop until it was no longer a fruitful action. Jack had a knack for picking up other tongues. Though the former-cannibals could speak English, they very rarely did so. Since Teague and Rosalyn scarcely came out of the captain's quarters, Jack had taken the opportunity to put meanings to words. He'd discovered the natives frequently mocked him. Of course, their insults weren't entirely something Jack was upset by—they seemed to think he would taste more like chicken than human. The fact that they compared him to chickens was insulting, but he really didn't care what he tasted like, so he never retaliated.

He nodded to Teague, following behind the man and his very determined stride. It was clear Teague had no desire whatsoever to even make small talk with Jack. Rather than put Teague in a foul mood and potentially not meet the supposed pirate lord, Jack wisely decided to remain silent. Teague had likely only brought Jack along because he could blend into the population than Skippy the skeleton-impersonating native. Fewer heads would turn to look at Jack then they would at the natives. Jack didn't want anything to go wrong in this excursion. The more pirate lords he had a chance to meet, the closer he would be to determining the power and influence such a luxurious title held. Were they like lords during feudal times? Or was the title more like that used in the House of Lords? Only time would tell.

Teague weaved through the streets of Nice with such dexterity that Jack assumed the older pirate had been to the sunny port on numerous occasions. He couldn't keep track of where they were, for Teague did not travel in a straight or rational line. Jack reasoned he did so in order to avoid attracting attention to either of them. Teague was easily identifiable by the numerous crosses and whatnot he had tied in his hair. He cut an intimidating swath. Jack was nearly as recognizable for wearing similarly unique hair accoutrements. His dress was more subdued than his father's, but neither one happened to appreciate subtlety. Still, for all of Teague's careful weaving, Jack was fairly certain they walked down some alleys more than once.

Approximately five minutes before Jack could bear the mysterious silence no longer, they reached their ultimate destination—a small shack on the outskirts of town. Jack was disappointed when he realized Teague meant to go in. "Here?"

"Aye." Teague glanced at Jack. "Ye speak French, right?"

As Jack nodded, Teagued looked away. "Good." He said simply. He knocked on the door three times, waited two seconds, and then knocked three times more.

"_D'où êtes-vous_?" a voice asked suspiciously from behind the door, scarcely muffled by the thin wood. What did it matter where they were from?

"_La mer_," Teague replied with an atrocious accent. Hopefully he wouldn't try speaking French again anytime soon.

There was some whispering behind the door for a moment and then it opened up. Two men, armed with far more weapons than necessary, waved Jack and Teague inside the building. Jack stepped past them with a look of superiority on his face as he followed Teague inside.

The shack had one room. Save for the two men, it was free of much decoration. Two small cots were on either side of the room, and a solitary chair sat at the far wall near a fireplace. If this was where the pirate lord lived, Jack didn't want the title for himself. What if pirate lords were too busy going to the aid and defending other pirates to make a profit?

Teague was looking at the floor rather than at the bare walls one could see the sunlight through. Near the center of the shack, he seemed to find what it was that he was looking for. He knelt down and pulled on a handle that Jack hadn't even noticed previously. A large hatch door opened up, revealing a staircase leading below ground. "Wasn' expecting that," Jack remarked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

Teague said nothing, breezing past Jack and stepping down the first few stairs. Jack reluctantly followed, winding down the creaking wooden stairs. A lot of effort had gone into making the staircase to replace a simple ladder. Upon reaching the bottom, Jack followed Teague through a very dark room. The only light came from beneath a door directly in front of them.

Teague opened the door and the sudden influx of light nearly blinded Jack as he stumbled forward. Candles blanketed a metal wall that reflected the light around the underground room. Nearly fifty men sat around a plethora of tables playing various forms of cards. The smell of money was in the air, especially as Jack watched one of those men collect a pot that had to be at least twenty doubloons. A man could live off such a sum in a comfortable and lavish fashion for several years. In the hands of a pirate, it was worth at least three weeks of female company and endless drinking. "We 'ere t' gamble?" Jack asked in a whisper with a hopeful note.

Teague, predictably, ignored Jack. "I'm lookin' fer Captain Flaubert," he announced loudly. "Anyone seen 'im?"

Each of the men looked up in annoyance. The English and French had been at odds with one another for as long as any of them could remember. The French hated English as a result—they found it a barbaric and guttural language.

"_Il est mort_," the one who'd won said, his voice laced with contempt. "_Porquoi est-ce que vous lui cherchez_?"

"What'd he say, boy?" Teague looked at Jack anxiously. There was a look in his eye that Jack didn't like at all—it seemed his father was expecting him to get the translation wrong or something.

"Says 'e's dead." Jack half-smiled, looking away from Teague toward the piles of money on all the different tables.

Teague swore. "Afraid o' that. I imagine mos' of them are dead."

"He wants t' know why you're lookin' for him," Jack continued. What did happen when a pirate lord died?

"Tell him the sea is periwinkle blue t'day."

"Huh?" Jack tilted his head, finally looking back at Teague. The older man no longer looked ready to be disappointed by Jack. Instead, he looked insane. The sea wasn't periwinkle blue. Had Teague had something to drink earlier today that was messing with his mind?

"Jus' tell him that."

Jack half shrugged and complied. The man stood up with much flare, brushing at the sleeve of his elegant overcoat in a light shade of purple. He wore the typical outfit of aristocrats in France—far too flamboyant to be practical, but a great status symbol. His face was white, no doubt from makeup applied to make it so, and he had a beauty mark on his face. His cheeks were darkened by rouge, and his mustache and goatee trimmed to perfection to frame his face. He wore a curly blond wig that masked the doubtless dark hair atop his head to match the mustache and goatee. Everything about this man seemed to indicate wealth and power, including his stature. He kept his nose slightly raised, and moved in such exaggerated motions to befit the king of France himself. "I am Capitaine Claude Chevalle. What do you want?" His accent was thick, but his English understandable. Jack was upset. If this man was the one that Teague wanted to talk to, he wouldn't be able to eavesdrop while translating for him.

"You speak English?" Teague asked, eying Chevalle warily.

"Only when eet is necessary." Chevalle looked about as thrilled to be speaking English as a child attending Mass.

"Good." Teague glanced around the room. Everyone (save a few taking advantage of the disruption to cheat) was staring at him. If this Chevalle figure could speak English, it was very possible that others could as well. Jack saw his father shake his head slightly before reaching up and pulling something from his hair. Jack had often wondered why Teague wore a small coin in his hair, as most of his other decorations were religious, but had never bothered to ask.

Apparently it was important, for when Chevalle saw it, his eyes glittered. He nodded and then pulled a very old card—the queen of spades—from somewhere inside his sleeve. "Come with me, Capitaine." He motioned toward another door on the far side of the room. "We 'ave something to discuss, no?"

Teague nodded and stepped forward. Jack instantly mirrored the move. Though the amount of money changing hands in this room was inspiring and horribly enticing, the pirate yearned to see what this business was about. Teague wouldn't keep him in the dark now, would he?

"Don' need you in 'ere fer this one, boy," Teague muttered, glaring at Jack like an old matron would at a young woman using the wrong fork first at a white tie dinner. "Outta me way."

"What should I do, then?" Jack asked, masking his disappointment as well as an ostrich camouflages while hiding its head in the sand.

Teague shrugged. "Ye'll think o' somethin', boy."

"I am always 'appy to take money from Englishmen at my estableeshment," Chevalle supplied helpfully.

Jack glanced at Teague and rolled his eyes. "'E don' pay me enough t' gamble."

"Eef you are in need of money, I can give you enough to start at one of my tables." Chevalle looked almost worriedly toward Teague. "Any friend of zis fine capitaine ees a friend of mine." At a slight nod from Teague, Chevalle pulled out a small sack full of very pretty coins from the yellow sash he wore around his waist. He opened the bag slowly, and then picked out a few shiny bits before passing them to Jack.

Jack, in turn, bowed graciously to his host. "_Je vous rembourserai_," he promised. So long as he kept his head together, he would be able to repay Chevalle's generosity without much difficulty. Chevalle smiled slightly before motioning Teague toward the door. The wizened captain nodded to his son and then followed Chevalle through the myriad of tables and through a door.

Unsure when his father would be finished, Jack thumbed the coins in his hands for a bit as he surveyed the situation he found himself in. Most of the men around the tables were back to their games. Those who had cheated found themselves temporarily luckier. The cards were flying fast from the fingers of the dealers. A lot of men looked like professional gamblers. However, at a table to his left, it seemed there were at least two easy marks sitting down. There was an empty seat at the table (Chevalle had been sitting at it), so he decided to take a seat. "What are we playin', then?"

The other men ignored him as they finished out their hand. Perhaps they had no inclination to let him into a game. He was about to move to find someplace else to gamble when the man to his left with a uni-brow dealt out the next hand. Cards went flying toward the seat Jack was occupying. Figuring this to be an indication of their desire to have him in the game, he grinned and clapped his fingers over the cards. He pulled them across the table, curling his fingers over them as he lifted them up in the hope that perhaps he could make a good hand appear magically.

He wound up with the nine of clubs, five of spades, two and three of hearts, and jack of diamonds.

It was hardly the stellar first hand he wanted to establish a winning streak. His hand was worthless. There wasn't much of a point in even switching cards about. Jack never had good luck when it came to gambling. He was fairly good at bluffing, but it generally didn't take long for them to realize he was all bluff and no cards. Jack personally thought every dealer he'd ever met was conspiring against him—including himself.

He allowed the corner of his mouth to curl upward very slightly before quickly suppressing it. Today his luck would change. He could feel it in the dank, smelly air of the underground cavern that had been fitted for this very purpose. He would be able to earn enough money to pay his father back and leave. Jack could find out about pirate lords on his own. Once his father told him the name of the next one they were to visit…well, he knew the code words now, didn't he? His life was about to change for the better, finally.

"_I'm curious," Jack chimed in, suddenly, as he glanced at the cards sitting on the table. "Were any o' the others a' this table cheating? Because I distinctly remember having rotten luck. Too rotten, if you get me drift."_

_Pearl blinked, apparently surprised by the question. She closed her eyes for a moment, looking as though in deep thought, before slowly shaking her head. "Nope. You just have no manner of luck at all."_

_Jack frowned. "Drat. Every time I play cards, I keep hoping tha' I'll win a hand…but I think the mos' I've ever won gambling was five shillings. Which is nothing."_

"_Five shillings is enough to feed a family for a few days."_

"_Well, the point of gambling is t' get loads o' money, Pearl. An' five shillings isn' loads."_

_She shrugged. "It's better than never winning."_

"_I dunno. I got the five shillings the firs' time I played cards. Afterward…I jus' wanted to do as good as I had before. Which is probably why some men never leave gambling tables, right? Jus' have to do a little better."_

"_That's the way it works. Gambling is no good."_

"_Is it a black mark agains' me, then?" Jack winced as he waited for the scales to appear. The black marks on his record were probably drowning the good marks by now. How was he supposed to get to where he needed to go?_

"_Well, you didn't cheat. So…no. It's just not good. Too addictive."_

"_Ah." The relief in his voice was sharp enough that Pearl glanced up at him curiously. He smiled slightly and shrugged. "Right. Glad I din' get addicted, then. Better ways t' make money."_

"_Like an honest day's work?"_

"_Well, yeah. There's that." Jack grinned as he looked at the physical representation of his ship in human form. "Never did suit me."_

"_You know, that's probably one of those things you should keep to yourself. You're trying to convince me that you're a good man, right?"_

"_Oh. Yeah. Well, I did do an honest day's labor t' pay back me debt. So…tha's good, right?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Do I get points?"_

"_No."_

"_I don' get this reward system," Jack muttered. "Don' make no sense."_

"_Most of the really important things don't make sense, Jack."_

"_Can I at least have something? A pat on the back?"_

_Pearl grinned. She went up on her toes and kissed Jack gently._

"Jackie." Teague's voice startled the pirate as he kept his cards closely guarded to his chest. He really needed to learn when to stop. A fortune had just gone through his hands to the man across from him. A man with severe body odor had duped him into thinking that he was bluffing, and now Jack had nothing. He didn't even have the money that Chevalle had given him in order to enter the game. He had nothing except that which he'd put into the pot for the last call. He nearly had a flush. Nearly. Every single card was a heart except for the blasted ace of spades he'd had since the beginning of this hand. The ace meant he had nothing. And, unfortunately, he hadn't thought to stick a two of hearts or something up his sleeve during the last hand. "Time t' go."

"Just a moment." Jack glanced up at Teague and smiled slightly. "I really think I'm goin' t' win this one."

Teague blinked and shook his head in disbelief. He glanced to the pot and then back at his son. "Fine. If you win this one, I'll erase 'alf your debt."

Of course he had to choose to offer such a thing now… Jack had a sneaking suspicion that his father knew he was about to lose everything. Teague knew too much for his own good. Jack really wanted to do something to put the older man in his place. It was just statistically impossible for a man to be right so often! Plus it wasn't even remotely fair. Jack wished he were still on that godforsaken spit of land right now. "We 'ave an accord, then," Jack said hollowly, glancing back down at his cards as the others at the table started revealing what they had.

The taste of defeat was not a pleasant one as everybody at the table still in the game managed to show Jack up. He tossed his cards to the table in disgust before standing. Teague was laughing at him. Not vocally, for that was not something Teague ever did unless he was with a woman—but Jack could tell he was laughing because of the look in his eyes. "Shut it," he snapped.

Teague smiled very slightly. "I din' say nothin', Jackie. C'mon. 'Fore the penniless French man realizes yer renegin' on yer promise." He glanced momentarily toward Chevalle, who was deep in conversation with one of his underlings. Jack didn't want to cough up what he'd just lost of Chevalle's money, so he eagerly stood and slipped away from the table.

"How'd you know I din' have a good hand?" Jack asked, as he glanced at his father.

Teague's smile broadened as he walked through the doorway leading to the stairs. He seemed to have no desire to stay in a den of gambling Frenchmen. "I jus' did."

"Tha's not a very good answer," Jack complained.

"In me opinion, Jackie, there ain't any bad answers. Jus' stupid an' annoying questions. Never distrust your gut." He started up the staircase, purposefully brushing against some of the dirt near the hatch. Jack really hated his father sometimes.


	30. Chapter Twenty Nine: The Spaniard

Disclaimer: I don't have permission to be using any of these characters. I don't have permission to be messing around with the canon. And yet here I am, writing…

_Author's note (3/7/09):_ I'm a sporadic updater. I know. You can go ahead and tar and feather me if you'd like. Virtually, of course. Please don't literally do so. Sorry for the long break between chapters—I was a little disappointed in the number of reviews I got for the last chapter. I love having my ego stroked, as those of you who actually read these notes are aware. So stroke my ego and say I did a good job. Or point out my weaknesses. Just say something, please. I'm sure the translations into Spanish are rubbish. If you know better ones, please let me know and I'll change 'em. There are still at least sixteen chapters 'fore I finally get to the end—or, rather, the beginning of the third movie. Encouragement is appreciated.

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Spaniard**

"I preferred France," Jack muttered to himself as he trailed along behind Teague like a dog. "Honestly. I understood more o' what they said there. Me an' Spanish are like…well, smoke an' stones. Don' really stay together well. Can't speak Spanish decently—always put a French accent on me words. D' you think it's offensive t' a Spaniard t' hear a man speak Spanish wiv a French accent?"

Teague didn't bother answering Jack's question as he walked near the docks of Coruña. He seemed to be in a good mood since Chevalle agreed to sign his little piece of paper, but Jack never got to see any of that good mood. Only his mother did, which was hardly fair. Jack thought he deserved a little bit of thanks for speaking in French and not causing some huge scene that would embarrass the pirate…but he didn't get anything more than a nod. Skippy got more than nods. He sometimes got pats on the back. Jack felt like the older sibling who was taken for granted anymore. He hated feeling this way. After all, he was twenty-eight…it was embarrassing. He was old enough to have several partially grown children himself, but he still felt like a child. Teague was never pleased with anything he did. And would probably never be happy.

"So are we anywhere near where we're going?" Jack asked hopefully as Teague paused near some warehouses. "Not tha' I'm complaining. It's jus' cold." Winter was approaching.

"Nearly there," Teague said with his normal indifference. Why was Jack clamoring for attention from him, anyway? Jack thought it was stupid, and yet he found himself doing that every chance he had to. Perhaps it was just because Teague was one of those really intense pirate captains. One of the ones who knew practically everything about piracy. Jack was fairly sure that his father was older than he looked. He knew far too much about the sea to have only been alive fifty or so years. Plus he looked to be only about fifteen years older than Jack. Rosalyn, on the other hand, almost looked old enough to be Jack's grandmother. She seemed to be on the last few gasps of life before old age snuffed her out. Which wasn't too odd—Jack had lived longer than many men did. It just bothered Jack how quickly she'd been deteriorating lately. If Teague wasn't so blasted nice to his mother and a pirate lord, he would probably just leave with her in tow and forget about his debt to his father. However, he wanted Rosalyn to enjoy the end of her life. And he wanted to be named Teague's successor. No one could live forever, right? Which meant that he could be the next pirate lord of whatever Teague was the pirate lord over. Jack wished he could learn more about pirate lords…but the natives didn't know either, so he couldn't get information from them. Only Teague knew what they were about. And he had a habit of answering in monosyllabic words.

"Good. Nearly there is good. I hope it doesn' snow. I don' like snow. Never have. Actually, I've never _actually_ been in the snow. But I assume I don' like it, for this cold is…well, I wish I 'ad more layers, tha's for certain." He followed Teague down the pathway to the house, stamping his feet in an attempt to keep them warm.

Teague glared at him until the mutterings died away in all but Jack's mind. Jack wished he had the courage to say something rather rude to his father, but he knew that was like slapping a sleeping snake and expecting it not to bite when it woke up. Teague couldn't stand people questioning his authority. One of the cannibals had crossed Teague three weeks ago. He had chopped the man into little bits and then dragged the cannibal's head tied to a line behind the ship for a day and a half. Jack would rather keep his body in one piece when he met his end.

Teague knocked on the door in a specific pattern. Jack hoped his father could speak Spanish, for Jack had no idea how to say the secret code about the sea being periwinkle blue. It had been hard enough to translate into French. It wasn't often Jack had to think about different shades of blue in a foreign language. Had he been able to, he would've looked up how to say it aboard his father's ship, but Teague kept no printed words on board. Jack really missed the _Black Pearl_. He had a fairly good library to peruse during long voyages at sea. Barbossa, the mutinous codpiece, had probably lit them all on fire to spite Jack.

The door opened about an inch, and a pair of dark brown eyes peered out at both Teague and Jack. "_¿Dónde está usted de?_" the owner of the eyes asked.

"_El mar_," Teague replied. Jack couldn't believe how simple their little code was. He didn't need to know Spanish to know that the man behind the door had asked Teague where he was from, and Teague had replied the ocean. It was the exact same question they'd been asked in France.

The door opened up and the owner of the voice and eyes, a stocky man with an underbite severe enough that his mustache was mostly in his mouth, motioned them forward. "Who are you here to see?" His English was surprisingly good, for he spoke with hardly any accent at all.

Teague stepped inside. Jack followed once there was space to do so. He was fairly certain that Teague didn't need him along this time. He had the sneaking suspicion that Teague knew their host. Which was problematic—Jack wasn't sure how many chances he would have to get to see what his father was up to with these pirate lords. He still wasn't sure if they were lords over the sea or over specific ports. If that was the case, they would be making a lot of visits. While Jack enjoyed seeing new parts of the world, he didn't want to spend the rest of his adult life indentured to Captain Edward Teague. This particular room was quite interesting—it had the look and feel of a room that had been lived in by men who chewed tobacco, drank alcohol, and had fun smoking for decades. Some of the tobacco stains on the floor had probably been there for years—as had the blood stains on the rug that had once been a lovely green and was now brown. It almost reminded him of Captain Odell's cabin before he'd died.

"Captain Villanueva," Teague said simply.

Their host frowned slightly, walking over to a chair that was probably crawling in lice. "There is a problem with that, señor," he said, glancing at the floor.

"Wha's the problem?"

"Capitán Villanueva was arrested this morning." The man looked up and motioned toward some of the broken chairs and tables. Jack had thought they went quite well with the décor personally, but apparently they were some sign of a scuffle. "He is due to be hung at dawn tomorrow."

"Did 'e leave anythin' behind wiv you?" Teague asked anxiously, apparently not caring that Eduardo Villanueva was about to be hung.

"No, señor," their host reported, looking baffled by the question. "Was he expecting you?"

"Yes." Teague glanced over at his son. "I need you t' break him out of prison."

Jack was completely taken aback by this request. "Me?" he asked, clearly dumbfounded.

"Aye." Jack didn't like the look in Teague's brown eyes. He'd seen that look in his father's eyes right before he'd attacked the cannibal. Was this a suicide mission? Jack didn't want to die. He had too many mysteries to figure out—namely what a pirate lord was and what sort of status it afforded.

"Why don't you want t' do it yerself? It'd be a glorious act for Edward Teague." He hoped that by appealing to Teague's immense pride he could weasel his way out of this. Jack almost wished he'd been asked to stay behind on the boat, like Skippy. As much as he wanted to please his father, he didn't want to end up hanged alongside Villanueva.

"Captain," Teague corrected sternly.

"For Captain Edward Teague, then," Jack hastily amended.

Teague appeared to be considering that for a moment, and then finally shook his head. "You'll do it. If you die, then I'll do it." He smiled slightly at Jack, apparently amused with the look of panic visible in Jack's eyes now.

"Mum'll kill you if I die." Jack was clearly just grasping at the wind in an attempt to get out of this dangerous mission.

Teague shrugged. "Risk I'm willin' t' take. 'Sides, the _infamous_ Jack Sparrow needs a few more misdeeds un'er his belt than I do. Now go, boy."

Resigned, Jack wiped the look of worry off his face as he bit back the impulse to correct his father with his proper title. He didn't need to be teased further by Teague. His father couldn't stand cowards, either. Jack actually had a list of things Teague couldn't stand he kept in order to prevent himself from meeting Old Hob too soon. It was significantly larger than things Teague liked, of which Jack also kept a list. It was good to be aware of other people with power and a love of chopping things up or off. "I'll need a disguise, first."

Teague apparently had no suggestions, for he started chewing on his fingernails. Jack was about to ask if he had any ideas when the Spaniard spoke up. "I can help you with that, señor." He was now standing, looking quite eager. He likely cared a lot about Villanueva, and was probably embarrassed he hadn't been around to defend the captain when the navy had struck.

"Really?" Jack had almost forgotten there was another man in the room.

"_Si_. I have a brother who is in the navy who was once about your size. If we were to pay him enough, he would give his old suit to us. You should be able to sneak in dressed as a soldier."

"I don' 'ave any pieces o' eight, though." Jack glanced at Teague. When he noticed the older man was looking at the Spaniard, he glared at his father. He'd done back-breaking work for a few months, now, and still didn't get paid.

"That is no problem. Capitán Villanueva will not mind if we borrow some of his money, so long as you pay him back."

Jack grinned. Villanueva would never know he'd 'borrowed' the money in the first place. Perhaps he could pocket some extra so that he could have fun the next time they stopped by a port with a brothel. "Alright then. Le's go find this brother of yours."

"_So, does saving a man from hanging count as a good deed?" Jack asked curiously. "You never told me before."_

_Pearl glanced at Jack. "Well, yes and no."_

"_Yes and no?"_

"_It's all a matter of your intentions while doing so."_

"_So would this be a yes or a no, then?"_

"_A bit of both."_

"_I'd wager it's mos'ly a yes. I mean, I din' even know the man. Very altruistic o' me t' consider going."_

"_True. But you were doing so just to sate your curiosity, right? You didn't actually care if he lived or died."_

"_Well, 'e is a pirate. An' perhaps did deserve to die."_

"_Perhaps."_

"_So is it good or bad?"_

"_Jack, a lot of things are grey."_

"_Like this one?"_

"_Yes."_

_Jack sighed. He'd lived in a world of grey that bordered on black through most of his life. Which probably meant he would end up stuck here for eternity because he wouldn't pass this test or whatever it was Pearl was putting him through. While Pearl was good company, this reviewing his life thing was getting to be rather tedious. He would much rather be getting to know the human form of his ship better._

It was nice having a translator. Jack hardly had to do anything while talking to the Spaniard's brother. The man had the same underbite his brother did, but was clean shaven. He was about the same height as Jack, but was nowhere near to the right size. Jack probably weighed about eighty or ninety pounds less than the rotund naval officer and was rather skeptical the man would have anything that actually fit, but was astounded when his escort came out of a room holding a suit that looked almost custom-tailored for him. The shoulders were a tad broad, and there was a little extra room in the trousers, but the dark navy blue uniform trimmed in red did fit. He felt a lot like a poof wearing it, but so long as no one bothered talking to him, he was quite sure he could sneak in undetected.

"Is there anything else, Señor Sparrow?"

"Nah. This should about do it," Jack said with a pleased smile. He bowed halfway to the corpulent man. "_Gracias_." That one word nearly exhausted his Spanish vocabulary.

The officer simply nodded. He didn't look entirely pleased to be selling his memorabilia from days gone by. Jack strongly suspected his window of opportunity to get Villanueva out depended on how long it took this man to decide he wanted the uniform back. Having no desire to be hung while impersonating an officer in the _Armada Española_, Jack decided it was prudent for him to get moving. He straightened the bicorn hat carefully atop his head. It masked his unusual hair adornments fairly well. Jack didn't think his tangled hair would be too out of place at the prison. And if it was, well, at least he wouldn't owe his father any more money when it was all said and done. Jack nodded back, and then followed his new Spaniard friend across town to the prison.

The prison had been built first as primarily just a barracks for soldiers, so the military minds had made some modifications to make it more suitable for holding scallywags and thieves. The reinforcements didn't look very neat, but would likely hold in the case of a full-scale invasion. Jack walked right through the front door of the building as two junior officers saluted him. He walked stiffly in an attempt to keep from losing his pants and to appear as though he thought very highly of himself. Jack had noticed a trend in people who had an awful lot of pride—they generally seemed to walk as though they truthfully did have something rammed up their backside. Jack had previously surmised that it was more an attempt to keep their chin parallel to the floor. Whatever the reason, he seemed to be doing it right. No one stopped him as he made his way down to where the worst criminals were being kept—which, invariably, happened to be the cells with the most protection. He was amazed. Jack was fairly certain he was walking as though he were a little tipsy. The pirate could scarcely tell when he was walking in a straight line on land or not.

Eduardo Villanueva was inside of a cell that was likely custom-tailored to him, as this particular town had been his base of operations for a while. Three of the walls were made of stones mortared together that would take several poundings from a cannonball to smash in. The bars that comprised the fourth were not only vertical, but also horizontal as though to keep the stocky Spaniard from slinking through the gap. Four armed guards stood nearby, idly watching Jack as he approached before straightening and then saluting. Jack's informant had said nothing about armed guards. For the briefest of seconds, he was tempted to simply keep walking as though he were doing a simple inspection of the facilities, but he knew that Teague would never forgive him if he let one of the pirate lords die. If he didn't have such a strong desire to impress his father, he would simply let the short man rot in his cell until his hanging in the morning. Competition in the pirating world was stiff. It seemed a little on the stupid side to be helping the competition out of jail.

He paused near one of the soldiers busy scratching an itch inside of his nose blocked by mucus and motioned for him to leave. Jack was hoping that body language would help him through the rest of this crazy venture. So long as they thought he spoke Spanish and was a superior officer, he could get away with this. Just like there were quiet men in the world of piracy, there had to be quiet military men, right? Jack almost wished he'd spent more time near the military. Almost. He couldn't stand how proper they always acted as though they thought the world actually cared what they wore or said or did.

The soldier snapped to attention and saluted Jack, looking embarrassed that he'd been caught with a finger up his nose. He garbled off something that sounded vaguely familiar, so Jack nodded and motioned for the man to leave again, carefully arranging his eyebrows to look stern. One of his compatriots said Villanueva's name (or perhaps he was talking about a new town, Jack couldn't tell) and then nodded toward the keys on the wall opposite Villanueva's cell. Part of the pirate lord's punishment seemed to be that he was forced to see how close freedom truly was. Jack nodded again, gesturing quite wildly this time that he wanted them to leave. He put on his best angry face, glaring at the four men until they finally scampered off with their guns in tow.

Villanueva, who had been sitting when Jack first arrived, stood up. He went over to the bars and grasped them with his hands, a few whiskers of his black mustache poking through. "You look like you have not aged a day, Capitán Teague."

"Sparrow, actually," Jack said warily. He'd never been mistaken by anyone as his father. Perhaps Villanueva had known Teague since he himself had been young. The Spaniard's beard had the unmistakable salt and pepper look of a man who was getting on in years. Even his eyebrows were turning grey. Oddly, his mustache was completely untouched by the indicator of age.

"Sparrow?" Villanueva repeated, his eyes narrowing. "Where is Capitán Teague?"

"Waitin' for you, as it turns out." Jack turned and walked over to where the keys to the block of cells rested. He carefully picked the heavy ring up and walked back to the cell. "Sent me. Has business wiv you about the Code."

Villanueva's dark eyes narrowed slightly. Jack was fairly positive the man didn't think he could trust this stranger. "How do I know you did not kill Capitán Teague?"

"Well, I'd wager you'd jus' have t' trust I din'." Jack said with a shrug of his shoulders as he selected a key at random. He tried sticking it into the lock. It didn't fit.

Villanueva's eyes narrowed further. They almost seemed to be closed, and Jack didn't think the man could see much at all through them. "Are you sent by that _francés estúpido_ Chevalle?"

"Do I sound French?" Jack asked exasperatedly as he inserted another key into the lock. It didn't fit either. It would've been nice if the jailers had labeled the keys or something. How was it they could tell what key went where, anyway?

"Not particularly. But I find many people do not speak the way one assumes they should. Perhaps you are his nephew from England."

"Which is why you mistook me for Captain Teague," he said, amused, as he tried a third key. Fortunately, there were only nine keys on this particular ring, and it seemed the soldiers were taking advantage of their break, for Jack could hear no footsteps headed toward Villanueva's cell.

Villanueva was silent for a moment, carefully scrutinizing Jack again. Apparently he seemed appeased by the resemblance of Jack and Teague. "How were you planning to get me out?"

Jack realized he hadn't actually thought that far ahead. He hadn't expected to make it this far without being discovered, frankly. "I figured a good dash for it would work."

"That was your plan?"

"Pretty much." Jack smiled at the look on Villanueva's face.

"You are nothing like Capitán Teague," the man spat as Jack finally found the right key.

"Thank you."

"I would almost rather stay in prison."

Jack shrugged slightly. "Teague wouldn't be happy about that. If 'e's not happy, then things ge' miserable aboard the _Queen Anne's Revenge_. I'd rather keep things happy." He twisted the key. The tumblers unlocked. "Give me your 'ands," he said, finally deciding on how it was they were going to escape the prison.

"Why?"

"I'm going t' take you to an early execution, of course."

Villanueva looked tempted to grab Jack's pistol and use it to defend himself until he realized that Jack merely wanted the other officers and soldiers to think that was what was about to happen. "Oh," he said, thrusting his arms out like a child eager to play pirates and redcoats.

Jack grabbed some manacles hanging from a nearby wall and put them over the Spaniard's wrists. He didn't tighten them to give the man an easier time to slip out of them if necessary, but it still looked believable to the outside observer. "Are any of your men here?"

"_Si_. But they are not worth the risk."

"Very well." Jack grabbed Villanueva's arm. "You might need t' do the talking for me."

"You don't speak Spanish?"

"No."

Jack heard a long string of words from Villanueva at that tidbit. He was fairly certain he'd just been insulted, but that didn't matter. Teague would be pleased enough by this rescue to let Jack listen in on his business, right? "Put something over my head."

"Why?"

"To keep the soldiers from seeing my lips move, you idiot."

"Ah." Jack glanced around in the newly vacated cell for a few seconds. There really hadn't been much in there. Would he one day meet the same sort of fate? He shook his head slightly and started scanning the rest of the area. There was a burlap bag leaning against the wall. Inside was a potato that had started to grow. Jack tossed it aside and then put the bag over Villanueva's head. It made Villanueva's dirty ruffled cotton shirt look pure white. "Alright."

"Let's go." Jack grabbed Villanueva's arm again and started escorting him back toward the front entrance, pleased that he wasn't the one who had to smell moldy potatoes.

The hood seemed entirely unnecessary, for no one questioned where Jack was going, until they reached the front of the prison. The two officers pointed their guns at Jack. One was glaring at him in a manner similar to how one would at a dog who had just stained the new rug. "Where are you going?" he spat, in English.

"_¿Qué?_" Jack mouthed. He could've figured that one out for himself—it was similar to the French expression for what.

"Where are you going?" the soldier repeated, blinking slightly. They had been told that someone had been speaking English in the back of the prison by one of the armed guards.

"_Yo no comprendo inglés. Somos españoles. Hable español_." This was almost fun. Jack had often wondered what it would be like to be a puppet. Now he had some idea as to how they had to feel while mouthing words the puppet master spoke. Of course, he knew that puppets probably didn't feel anything, but some of them seemed to.

The soldier apologized hastily and then asked Jack where he was going. Jack wasn't sure what Villanueva said, but apparently the soldiers bought it. Both lowered their weapons and motioned for him to go. Not wanting to end up discovered, Jack pushed Villanueva forward. Once he was fairly certain the soldiers couldn't see them any longer, Jack pulled the sack off Villanueva's head. His graying hair was now covered in dirt. "What did you tell them I was doing?"

"Making me show you where I buried the treasure," the Spaniard answered, disdainfully brushing at some of the dirt on his shoulders. "I said they would get a part in the treasure if they let me go without question. Greed works wonders on all men."

"Tha' it does," Jack agreed. He pulled the hat off his head. "Captain Teague would like a word wiv you. He's back wiv your bos'un."

"Ortega?"

"I never actually asked him 'is name. Nice fellow, though."

"He owes me a fortune."

Jack smiled slightly at that. "Ah." Hopefully Ortega wouldn't place the debt squarely on Jack's shoulders for the uniform. He was fairly certain Ortega would, however. His brother had not sold what Jack was now wearing cheap. "Well, we should move along."

Jack followed Villanueva back to the building. He couldn't remember the layout of Coruña. Though he was normally quite good with directions, it was cloudy overhead and he couldn't make sense of what direction was what without landmarks he knew. It was about a fifteen minute walk which was blissfully quiet. Villanueva seemed a man of few words. Jack didn't particularly want to talk—he was too busy wondering how it was Villanueva had mistaken him for Teague.

"Eduardo!" Teague said while showing rare excitement as the pirate lord went in through the door proudly. "Good t' see you, mate."

"Edward," Villanueva said distantly. "Why did you send someone else in? What if he had failed?"

"Jackie's sprung me from jail. Figgered he'd do the same for you." Teague shrugged slightly. "I need t' talk t' you. Abou' the Court." He glanced at Jack. "Oi, boy—you look ridiculous. Take those off an' bring me an' Eduardo some decent rum, savvy?"

Jack glared at his father. Apparently he wasn't going to hear this conversation either. He really should've just let Villanueva hang. "Rum. I can handle that." Determined to spite his father in any way he could without actually ending up in little pieces, Jack decided he would drink half the rum and then water it down. His father would never be able to tell the difference. It would serve the man right.


End file.
